Property Of A Lady
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: After M's death, James Bond takes his grief out on every criminal he's assigned to. Concerned, Gareth Mallory gives him a new assignment and a new partner - a woman who just happens to be the late M's sister, Lady Margaret Mawdsley. Together, Bond and Lady Maggie work to expose a web of deceit, murder, and betrayal, and Bond learns what it really means to be the property of a lady.
1. Prologue: A Bulldog Of A Problem

Brace yourselves - this is my sequel to _Skyfall, _featuring a Bond girl like nobody you've ever seen before! After M's death, Bond is taking out his grief on every criminal he comes across. Concerned, Gareth Mallory - the new M - gives him a new assignment and a new partner: a woman who just happens to be the late M's sister, Lady Margaret Mawdsley. Together, Bond and Lady Maggie work to solve a tangled mystery of deceit, murder, and betrayal, and Bond learns just what it means to be the property of a lady.

I was inspired to write this story not only after the events of _Skyfall, _but in response to rumors that Maggie Smith was going to be in the film. Sadly, she wasn't, but if she were in a Bond film... well, this is my idea of the type of character she'd play! So, this story is lovingly dedicated to her.

* * *

Blood.

The old cliché held that it was thicker than water. It was the source of life when flowing through one's veins, and the source of death when leached from one's body. It could boil in one instant and run deathly cold in the next, a person could be murdered in cold blood, and one could also be after another's blood… just as James Bond was right now.

Pelting hell-for-leather down the back streets of London, Walther PPK drawn and sweat pouring down his face, Bond was in hot, reckless pursuit of the tosspot who had stolen something he held dear… something very precious. And the tosspot in question was barreling ahead of him with the speed of bloody Superman, legs pumping for all he was worth – which didn't amount to much, if you asked Bond. Breaking into the flat of an MI6 double-0 was stupid enough, but stealing a precious artifact from said agent's flat and running into the agent on the way out? No wonder the world was going to seed; even petty criminals were getting dumber by the day.

The situation _was _idiotic; it really was. Bond had just stepped out to pick up his order from the Chinese takeaway down the street and returned home, beef and broccoli and eggrolls in hand, when his door swung open before he could even fish in his pocket for his keys. Tosser, as he was now calling the thief he was chasing, had frozen for a split second, stared at Bond with wide eyes, and then bolted for his life, carrying an all-too-familiar box in his arms. Dinner be hanged, Bond had thrown down his bag of Chinese food and hurtled after him, racketing down the stairwell and sliding down the rail when it seemed like the idiot was in danger of getting away. Now, he was running around London like a madman, on the tail of a nobody whose last "job" had probably been picking pockets on the Tube during rush hour. _This is so bloody ridiculous, _Bond fumed to himself as he continued to thunder along, dodging people and cars as he went. _Chasing down a twenty-something kid. __If this pillock were a real thief, he wouldn't have stared at me like a codfish and then bolted. He would've thought fast and… oh, NOW he pulls it on me!_

No sooner had they whipped round a corner and into a dank alley than Tosser pulled out a pistol – a peashooter compared to Bond's calibrated Walther – and fired off two rounds at Bond, who dived forward in a somersault to avoid the bullets. Pulling himself out of the somersault and right back onto his feet, Bond took aim and fired, missing Tosser by six inches as he suddenly zigzagged. "Are you trying to kill me?" the idiot shouted over his shoulder, never stopping for a moment.

_Are you serious?! _"Well, I'm not trying to friend you on Facebook!" Bond bellowed back; that only made Tosser run even harder. In that instant, Bond knew he was going to have to switch tactics; picking up the pace to match Tosser's would have only succeeded in getting him so winded he could no longer keep up the chase. His keen eyes roving over Tosser's escaping form, Bond quickly decided that the thief no longer needed a leg to stand on. Raising his Walther one more time, Bond aimed true and fired; Tosser let out a howl and collapsed to the ground, blood bursting from his right thigh. He barely had time to crawl away before Bond leaped over a dustbin that had been knocked over in the chase, sprinted the remaining length and tackled him back down, pinning him to the pavement.

The two of them rolled off down the alley in a vicious tangle of arms and legs, aiming kicks and punches in every vulnerable spot possible and leaving a trail of blood behind them from Tosser's leg wound. Before long, however, it appeared that there would be more blood joining what was already on the ground – Bond was sporting a bloody nose and a cut above his right eye, and Tosser's face was well on its way to looking like a Rorshach test done in red ink. Tosser was a strong kid with a nasty right hook, but Bond was taller, stronger, and had the advantage of MI6 training and a license to kill, which he was seriously considering putting to good use if the little whelp beneath him didn't surrender the item he had stolen. "Give it back!" Bond snarled, one of his hands clenched on Tosser's chin and the other behind his head, as though he were going to snap the kid's neck.

Tosser growled, trying to wrestle his way out of Bond's vise-like grip. "Go to hell!"

Bond grabbed a handful of the kid's lank hair and stuck his face just inches away from his foe's. "I'm already there." Without warning, he pulled back his right fist and delivered Tosser a roundhouse punch to the side of his head, knocking him out cold. The boy's body went limp as unconsciousness settled in, and Bond, inhaling great gulps of air, finally stood up and wiped the blood from his face. Hearing the sirens of police cars in the distance, Bond quickly surveyed the alley for... yes, there it was, lying eight feet away from Tosser – the box stolen from his flat. Picking the box up and cradling it in the crook of his arm, Bond pulled the lid off and breathed a sigh of relief as he lifted out a small china bulldog with the Union Jack spread out over its back... his last gift from M. "Thank God," he murmured as the sirens came closer and car doors slammed behind him, heralding the arrival of the police. "She'd never forgive me if I lost you."

* * *

I know it's a little short, but I tried to make it as much like the opening of one of the Bond films as I could - and after all, the opening scene of _Casino Royale _was pretty short. The story's title I took from one of Ian Fleming's Bond short stories, purely because I thought it was such a great title and it fit so well with my story's plot. When we return, Bond's going to be in deep trouble with Mallory - and he's going to get a big surprise. Reviews are always appreciated!


	2. War Of The Words

Last time, Bond chased down the thief that stole the bulldog M gave to him. Now, he's about to get some flak from Mallory for his actions... as well as a life-changing surprise.

* * *

Few things remained constant in a universe that was forever changing, but there were a few concrete precedents that never changed; rules that were punishable by death. You didn't sell secrets to enemies foreign and domestic. You didn't trust that beautiful woman slinking toward you. And you didn't steal from James Bond.

Alone in his flat at eight o'clock in the morning, Bond was two steps shy of mainlining the black coffee he was drinking. After he'd chased down Tosser the previous night and given his statement to the police, he had returned home, checked the rest of the flat to ensure that nothing else had been stolen, and lain in bed wide awake for the remainder of the night should anybody else make the foolish mistake of breaking in. If they did, they would have gotten a cold greeting from his Walther, but nothing happened, and Bond was now pouring cup after cup of coffee down his throat, praying that the caffeine would keep him from collapsing on his feet. The last thing he needed at the moment was Mr. Sandman to bring him a dream.

The television was on, the smell of bacon hung in the air from his breakfast, and Bond's keen blue eyes, so sharp when they observed a situation and so icy cold when he was angry, were surprisingly soft as they gazed at the little bulldog sitting on the table before him. It was funny. He'd never liked the knickknack that had graced M's desk for years, but now, after she'd bequeathed it to him in her will… he'd actually grown fond of the little bugger. _An old dog for an old dog, _he thought, stroking the bulldog's cool china form with his index finger. _We were a fine pair, M, you and I. Two old bulldogs with the safety of the United Kingdom on our shoulders, unwilling to let go once we sank our teeth into a problem. _Bond sighed and threw back the remainder of the coffee in his cup. _Was this your way of saying "I love you"? I guess I'll never know._

Bond's head suddenly jerked up as he heard a muffled _thump _just outside his door. Although the sound had startled him, he knew he had nothing to fear, unless his paper boy was outside in the corridor waiting to bludgeon him with the morning _Independent. _Hauling himself out of his recliner in the lounge, Bond groaned with the effort. Even with the three cups of coffee he'd gulped down, his arms and legs felt like deadweights and his entire body, lean, muscular, and fit though it was, ached with exhaustion – from running, from lack of sleep, and from a bone-deep sadness that had plagued him for nearly a month. Twisting his upper body to crack his stiff back, Bond paused for a moment and cast another look at the bulldog, whom he had affectionately named Jack. "I miss you," he said aloud, tenderness in his voice. Anyone who happened to peek in at that moment would have thought he was speaking to the figurine, but Bond knew exactly who he was really talking to, and he _did _miss her – more than anyone knew. Straightening himself up and willing his legs to move, Bond ambled to the door, pulled it open, and knelt to pick up the paper. As soon as he did, he knew that he was in for a day of hell at MI6, for lo and behold, there was his face glaring back at him from the front page.

_Well, what do you know. I'm a bloody celebrity. _Shaking his head, Bond shook the folded paper open to reveal not only his photo but the screaming headline: DOGGED PURSUIT: MI6 AGENT SHOOTS THIEF WHO STOLE PRICELESS CHINA BULLDOG.

Bloody journalists. They stretched the truth no matter how reputable the newspaper was. Jack was a Royal Doulton figurine – expensive, certainly, but priceless? Hardly in that respect… but priceless to Bond? Yes, because of the woman it had once belonged to. All the same, he knew that this headline was going to raise the dander of quite a few of MI6's Powers That Be, particularly a certain former Security & Intelligence Committee chief.

As if on cue, Bond's mobile rang. _And so it begins, _he thought, grudgingly answering the call from MI6's chief of staff. "Calling to congratulate me, Tanner?" he asked sardonically.

"Don't make jokes about this, 007," Bill Tanner warned over the line. "You're already in enough trouble as it is."

"With Himself? You're right; I deserve to be spanked."

"Don't let him hear you, or he might take you up on the offer and then some. He was already hot to begin with thanks to BBC2's news report last night, but seeing the _Independent_'s headline this morning has made him angrier than a hippo with a hernia."

"You've been watching _The Lion King _again, haven't you?" Bond asked, rolling his eyes.

Tanner sighed. "It's my boys' favorite, but they're driving me insane watching it all hours of the day. Last night, my wife smacked me awake because I was singing 'Hakuna Matata' in my sleep."

Bond chuckled dryly. "It could've been worse. You could have been dozing on the job and You-Know-Who could have heard you singing 'I Just Can't Wait To Be King.' You would've been out before you could say 'Bob's your uncle,' and then you'd be singing a different tune."

"Yeah. 'O Happy Day.'" Bond could picture Tanner's wry smile on the other end of the line at the former's laughter. "Anyway, Cliffs Notes version, Himself would like to see you. Immediately."

Now it was Bond's turn to sigh. "All right, but I'm not doing it for him."

Tanner's reply was surprisingly soft. "I know. I'm not keeping this job for him either. I just feel I owe her, you know?"

Bond was quiet for a moment. He'd always liked Tanner, but they were such polar opposites that it amazed him. He was the unattached loose cannon, wild, headstrong, and unpredictable; Tanner was a family man, practical, thoughtful, and organized. Yet, during their years together at MI6, despite their vastly different fields, Bond and Tanner had become good friends with more in common than they realized. They both possessed the same dry, self-deprecating sense of humor, unwavering loyalty to queen and country, and, Bond now realized, a profound respect for the woman they had both called M. Their devotion to her had never faltered for an instant and never would, not even in death. They _both _owed her, big time. "Yeah," he finally answered, his voice more tender than he'd intended it to be. "I know." An understanding silence passed between them before Bond said "See you there" and terminated the connection. He'd get there, all right. In his own sweet time, he'd get there. Meanwhile, he was going to take a long, hot shower, shave, and throw on some decent clothes. Devil if he was going to give Himself the satisfaction of seeing him walking into work looking like the hell he was living in.

* * *

Some things were best kept underground, and the new MI6 headquarters were no exception to the old rule. Sequestered deep under the streets of London, the British Secret Service was working even harder than ever to keep their beloved United Kingdom safe, and just a short month ago, they had... although they'd paid the ultimate price with the loss of their chief. But duty lacked the patience for mourning, and in the wake of M's death, everyone had followed the old credo "Keep calm and carry on," although the former part of that phrase seemed an anathema to Bond. As he strode through the bank of underground offices, _calm _didn't fit his demeanor quite as much as _cold _did – although there was one person who could temporarily melt the ice that now covered his heart.

Bond pushed open the door leading to the chief's headquarters and looked around for... yes, there she was. Little girls may have been made of sugar, spice, and everything nice, but mix together brass, class, and a whole lot of sass, and the grand result was Eve Moneypenny. Tall and slender, with smooth mocha skin and huge eyes the color of rich chocolate, Moneypenny was, to quote an oldie from Bond's childhood, a long cool woman in a black dress. _Better than a devil in a blue dress, _Bond thought wryly as he smiled at the beautiful woman seated at the desk in the corner. "Good morning, Miss Moneypenny."

Moneypenny looked up from her Vaio laptop. "I wish I could reciprocate, James," she replied, her voice serious despite her smile. "You're a wanted man at the moment."

"By you?" Bond grinned, leaning over Moneypenny's desk.

Moneypenny's eyes took on a cynical glitter. "You should be so lucky." She nodded toward the office door across from her. "He wants you in his office and sitting in front of his desk, and then he probably wants your head on a silver platter."

"I didn't expect to be teacher's pet, but don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"Well, in all fairness, James, you haven't exactly done anything to vindicate yourself to him. The only reason he's keeping you is because he actually likes your devotion to the service."

"And here I thought he liked me for my scintillating wit."

"No, James…" Moneypenny leaned forward, a mischievous smile playing about her lips. "That's why I like you."

The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment before the intercom on Moneypenny's desk clicked on, cuing a rude interruption. "Moneypenny, quit drooling before we have to build an ark. 007, get in here NOW."

Bond stiffened at the male voice barking over the comlink. Like it or not, he had to reply. With an agitated sigh, he pressed the intercom button and replied, "Right away, sir." _Pompous twit. _With a wink to Moneypenny, he slid off the desk and entered the office before him, ready to face the so-called pompous twit. "How's the arm?"

Gareth Mallory, newly appointed head of MI6, was parked behind a mahogany desk glaring daggers at Bond. A strapping man of six feet, with the dark hair and blue eyes of his Irish ancestors, he looked every bit the bureaucrat he was, dressed in a navy blue suit, pale blue shirt, and red tie; his injured arm was still bound in a sling. He may have been the new boss, but Bond stubbornly refused to call him M. _You're not M. There's only one M, and you're not her. You'll _never _be her. _

"Let me put it this way, Bond. The second this sling comes off, I fully intend to give it plenty of exercise – by feeding you a long-overdue knuckle sandwich."

"Come now, sir, you know my favorite is ham."

Mallory scoffed. "Ham for a ham; how appropriate. You are absolutely amazing, Bond –"

"Finally, something we both agree on," Bond interrupted, relishing Mallory's filthy expression.

Mallory closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply; clearly, he was trying to maintain the calm that was slipping through his fingers. "That is not what I mean. What's amazing is how you just saunter in here and ask me 'How's the arm' without so much as one trace of shame. You are an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service, and you go swanning off after a nobody – a _boy, _Bond! A 22-year-old boy!"

"Who'd probably made his living picking pockets on the Tube and nicking valuables from every Tom, Dick, and Harry who looked like he had more than a bob or two to spare," Bond pointed out, having prepared in advance for the diatribe that was now being thrown at him. "He stole an object of great value from my flat; is it my fault he was stupid enough to run into me on the way out?"

"No, that's not your fault. Playing vigilante and garnering the attention of the British press is your fault. We were well on our way to rebuilding ourselves after Raoul Silva's reign of cyberterror, but thanks to you, we now look like a bunch of bloody incompetents who go after every tosspot that steals so much as a banana." Mallory sat back in a huff. "Bad enough I had to see it on the news last night, but to see your smiling face on the front page of the _Independent _beneath that wretched headline… 'Priceless china bulldog,' that's a laugh."

When Bond spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. "It's priceless to me, and with all due respect, sir, you bloody well ought to know why."

Something flickered behind Mallory's icy blue eyes. "I wouldn't have known you to be the sentimental type, Bond."

Bond met Mallory's eyes in an even stare. "Well, we never really know anyone, do we?"

"No, we don't. And I don't know you well enough to trust you alone again for a while… which brings me to the other reason why I've summoned you here."

"Because dressing me down wasn't enough?"

"Don't push it, 007. You're getting dressed down because you deserve it," Mallory said, sounding, to Bond's mind, like a school headmaster punishing a delinquent student. "You're running wild, and unless somebody puts a check on you, you're going to destroy yourself along with the rest of us."

His hackles raised at that last remark, Bond leaned forward and bored his eyes into Mallory's. "What are you going to do to me, _sir_? Shackle a ball and chain on my ankle to hold me back?"

Mallory smiled coldly, his lips thinner than knife blades. "Something like that. I'm assigning you a partner, Bond."

If the entire city of London suddenly collapsed in on them at that moment, Bond could not have been more surprised. Mouth half-open in shock and his cerulean eyes flashing first with confusion and then with anger at this presumption, all he could do was stare at Mallory for a good minute; the tense silence that hung in the air between them was so thick one could have cut it with a machete. A partner. A _partner, _of all things! He'd had temporary partners before, of course, but it was a pre-established fact that Bond worked alone. A permanent partner had always been out of the question when he and M had worked together, probably because Bond truly had considered her to be his partner. They had frequently worked so closely together on missions that Bond felt better in tune with her than anybody else, and never more so than their last fateful mission at Skyfall. No, he couldn't have a permanent partner. If he had to go through heartache like that again, he'd shoot Mallory first and then shoot himself.

"A partner?" Bond asked once he'd found his voice.

"Yes, Bond, a partner. You know; the person who follows you around, assists you on covert government missions, and makes sure you toe the line as expected?" Mallory retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Bond kept his hands clenched tightly together in his lap, willing himself not to slam them both on Mallory's desk. "I know what you mean. I don't need a partner; I work alone."

"Not anymore, you don't. Starting today, you're one half of a whole, and let's hope the woman I have in mind turns out to be the better half."

"A woman?" That caught Bond's attention, but for once, he was far from excited at the prospect. Rather, he was in a state of disbelief. "You're actually assigning me a female partner?"

"Don't get excited, unless you've suddenly developed a taste for women over 50. I thought an older woman might be able to keep your ego in check."

_An older woman _did_; fat lot you care. _"You're conveniently forgetting that I've worked with an older woman before, sir."

"Trust me, Bond, I haven't forgotten. And if you're smart, you'll accept this woman as your partner – if not for your sake, then for our former M's."

Bond narrowed his eyes. An expert poker player, he knew every single bluff, blind, and poker face in the book, enough to know when a person was hiding something – and right now, Mallory was hiding something, his authoritative mask a perfect poker face for his true motive. "You're being cryptic. What aren't you telling me?"

Were it not for his wounded arm, Bond was certain that Mallory would have folded his arms at that moment. "More to the point, what aren't _you _asking _me_? It should be fairly obvious; what do you normally ask a person when you meet them?"

Bond felt like smacking Mallory's head at that point and yelling at him to cut the cryptic crap. "What's her name?" he deadpanned, his voice acidic enough to trump the former's sarcasm.

An annoying beat of silence passed. Mallory clearly thought this was dramatic effect; all Bond thought was that the chief was chewing the scenery. "Margaret," Mallory finally said with a slight smile. "Lady Margaret… Mawdsley."

_Wham. _It was like somebody had walloped Bond in the stomach with a tire iron. _Mawdsley? No, it can't be… she can't be…_

"Yes, Bond," Mallory said, as though he had read Bond's mind, that smug smile still etched onto his face. "She's the sister of our late M, Lady Barbara Mawdsley."

* * *

I hate Mallory, but it was a lot of fun to write the exchange between him and Bond here - Mallory's such a pompous pain in the butt, and personally, I don't think Bond would be all that willing to call him M, because to him, Barbara Mawdsley is still M. So there is a level of tension between them. On the other end of the spectrum, however, there was the fun and flirty banter between Bond and Moneypenny. My inspiration for their exchange here was the interaction between Sean Connery's Bond and Lois Maxwell's Moneypenny, although I hope I've made Eve Moneypenny a little less of a sucker than that! Until next time, my darlings, and keep reviewing!


	3. Mission Unstoppable

I know this chapter is a little short, but I wanted to cut this scene a little short before Bond's first meeting with Lady Maggie. Here, Bond is just recovering from his shocking discovery, and now he and Mallory are about to have it out a little more before Mallory gives Bond his first assignment.

* * *

Had Bond previously thought he couldn't have been more surprised, not even if all of London caved in on them? He took it all back now. Slowly, he raised his head to meet Mallory's eyes, the latter regarding him with an annoyingly superior air and a smug smile to match it. "Sister," he repeated slowly, still in a mixed state of disbelief and shock. "M has a sister?"

"You sound surprised, Bond," Mallory said, although the tone of his voice clearly betrayed amusement at Bond's reaction. "After all, Lady Barbara was so close to you, I assumed she would have told you."

Bond bristled at the sarcasm in Mallory's voice when he mentioned M's closeness to him. It was no secret that the agents thought Bond was M's favorite, but none of them ever mocked their relationship like this. But no way was he going to let Mallory push his buttons like that. _He wants fire, but he's going to get ice. _"You know what happens when you assume, don't you, sir?"

The smug grin morphed into a dirty glare as Mallory leaned forward on his desk. "Are you calling me a jackass, 007?"

"You flatter yourself; I wouldn't do donkeys such a dishonor."

For a moment, Bond thought Mallory was finally going to lose his temper. But after a minute of red-faced fuming, the chief sank back into his chair and sighed heatedly, massaging his forehead in an attempt to calm down. "I won't even dignify you with a retort to that one," he said somewhat snottily; Bond snickered internally, satisfied that he had won that little exchange. "But I am curious. Your reputation for nosing into personnel files precedes you – don't think I don't know about your little background check on me after I started here. So I thought you would have sneaked a peek at Lady Barbara's file."

Bond shook his head. "You really can't pick your nose without somebody seeing. Yes, I did tap into M's file, but all it listed was her husband and two children, no mention of any siblings."

"Ah yes, I forgot about the policy regarding family members serving at MI6."

"You mean Lady Margaret was an agent?"

"Yes, she was Agent 009. Lady Barbara had just begun her tenure as chief of staff when Lady Margaret joined the service, so to protect both of them from harm, Lady Margaret took the alias Natalie Grantham. It worked, for nobody ever suspected them of being sisters – also, the fact that they don't look a thing alike despite their being blood was a considerable asset."

Bond blinked at the mention of Lady Margaret's alias. "I do recall a Natalie Grantham working in the double-0 division about twenty years ago, but that was before I joined the service. She was the one who took out the Cold War arms dealer Nikolai Tereshkov in 1989, just before the Berlin Wall came down. She was quite the heroine, if I recall correctly."

"For once, you do. Lady Margaret Mawdsley, alias Natalie Grantham, alias 009, was one of the Service's most brilliant agents, and she executed that mission with cunning and just a hint of ruthlessness. She was dedicated, intelligent, and above all, dispassionate. She never let her personal feelings overrule her judgment, she trusted her gut, and she never mixed business with pleasure, although she reportedly had several advances during her time here. I'll leave you to guess what her responses were to the poor sods hitting on her."

"If she was anything like her sister, she would have ensured that they weren't able to pee standing up for weeks after," Bond replied, unable to keep his admiration for M out of his voice.

Mallory smiled grimly. "Well done, Bond; you're smarter than you look."

"And better-looking than you."

"So you say. Do anything to jeopardize your new partnership, and I'll rearrange your pretty face personally."

Bond linked his fingers together in his lap. "I appreciate your concern, sir, but shouldn't I actually meet my new partner before I jeopardize our relationship?"

"Patience, 007. I was just getting to that part." Mallory reached into one of his desk drawers, pulled out a manila folder marked TOP SECRET – AGENT 007, and dropped it on the desk in front of Bond. "Lady Margaret's original MI6 dossier, along with the address of her current residence. You're to go there this afternoon and bring her back here to headquarters, where I'll brief you both on your first mission. Afterwards, you're both to report to Q Branch to receive your new weapons and gear. Think you can do that without setting London's teeth on edge?"

Bond took the file, stood up, and made an exaggerated bow before Mallory. "I'll do my very best, sir."

Mallory glared at Bond. "Grow up, 007. Now get out of here and don't screw this up."

With a mock salute to Mallory, Bond exited the office and shut the door behind him, grinning when he met Moneypenny's eyes. "You look like the cat that caught the canary," he observed upon seeing her knowing smile.

"I just had a ringside seat to the verbal joust of the century," Moneypenny replied, her brown eyes glittering. "Chalk up one victory for James Bond."

Bond strode past her desk and opened the door out, pausing to glance back at her. "To the victor go the spoils, eh, Moneypenny?" he said with a wink.

"Unfortunately, James, that's one victory you'll never have."

Bond's smile widened at that challenge. "Hope springs eternal," he said cheerfully, eliciting a smile from Moneypenny before closing the door behind him.

* * *

What comes next? Stay tuned and keep reviewing!


	4. Fire and Ice

Last time, Bond was off to meet Lady Maggie, and now that meeting is about to take place... but it's not exactly going to be peaceful.

* * *

Lady Margaret Mawdsley's current residence turned out to be No. 7 Pinehurst Court in Notting Hill, a fact that impressed Bond upon scanning through her dossier. _A flat in Pinehurst Court; well, that was some retirement present. She must've been pretty hot under the collar about retiring; otherwise the Powers That Be at the time wouldn't have compensated her so well. Usually, all a retiree gets is a T-shirt and a slap on the back. _

These thoughts and more were revolving on a merry-go-round through Bond's mind as he drove through London, behind the wheel of one of the blue company Jaguars. Normally, Bond eschewed the MI6 vehicles, claiming they were too flashy and too easy to track, but ever since his beloved 1964 Aston Martin DB5 had been blown to Kingdom Come by Silva and his toadies, Bond had been forced to resign himself to driving a Jag when the occasion called. Thank God, it wasn't very often, which meant that Bond could simply zip around town on his Ducati without a care. But call the occasion did, and this was one of those times. Mallory had insisted on Bond taking a Jaguar to pick his new partner up in, politely insisting that nothing else would do ("If I see you roaring in here on that blasted motorbike with Lady Margaret clinging to your waist, I will flay you alive, 007"). No danger of that now, for Bond pulled the Jag up to No. 7 Pinehurst Court and got out, taking a moment to gaze up at the house as though it were forbidden territory. _No turning back now, _he thought, inhaling deeply and marching up to the front steps…

Only to freeze when he saw that the front door was slightly ajar. Somebody other than Lady Margaret was in there, for Bond seriously doubted that a former MI6 agent would be daft enough to simply walk into her house and leave the door open for everybody and their brother to walk in. Slipping a hand inside his jacket and pulling his concealed Walther out, Bond crept up the front steps and paused outside the door, listening for anybody's breath on the other side. Nothing pierced his ears, so he pointed his gun over the threshold at either side, proceeding only when all was clear.

Inside, however, Bond's suspicions of a break-in were confirmed. The entrance hall was a mess – cracks in the wall and flowers scattered all over the floor from a broken vase, soaked through with the water they had been standing in. Clearly, there had been a nasty struggle, and Bond didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned – Lady Margaret was former MI6, but even agents were mortal, contrary to popular belief. Slowly, Bond moved deeper into the heart of the house, glass from the shattered vase crunching under his shoes and water sloshing as he went. After a while, however, Bond became aware that his footsteps were no longer making the typical _plash-plash _of a rain puddle, but a horribly sticky, squelching noise… as though he were stepping in something much more viscous than water. Sure enough, the pungent smell of copper stung Bond's nose, and he looked down to find himself standing in a pool of blood.

After years in the Service, the sight and smell of blood no longer fazed Bond. What set his defensive alarm off was the possibility that there was an assassin in the house and that the blood might belong not to the killer, but to Lady Margaret. Keeping his gun raised close to his face, Bond followed the trail leading from the puddle to the cabinet under the stairs – a body had been dragged there, judging from the way the blood trail alternated between being syrupy and smeared. With his free left hand, Bond slowly reached for the handle and jerked the cabinet door open, jumping back with his Walther aimed. The exsanguinated, battered body of a man fell out at Bond's feet, his eyes wide and glassy, nose broken, and mouth open, revealing bloody gaps between his teeth where others had been knocked out. _Bugger me, _Bond thought, admiration beginning to rise within him. _If Lady Margaret did this, she certainly hasn't lost her touch. But once a double-0, always a double-0, which begs the question of why she stuffed this pillock in the cupboard after she killed him. Something tells me she wanted somebody to find him, which means he wasn't working alone… somebody else is either coming or here already._

All of a sudden, Bond felt the wind get knocked out of him as somebody dropped down on him from above, tackled him to the floor and landed a well-aimed punch to the side of his face. Heat rushing to his face, Bond worked up a mouthful of blood and saliva and spat it in his foe's face; the would-be ninja reared back long enough for Bond to roll his legs up and deliver a two-footed kick to his attacker's gut, rolling backwards simultaneously to flip him off and onto the floor with a tremendous thud. The impact did little to stun the man, however, for he was back up on his feet and working Bond into a full nelson before the latter could reach for his gun. The two men wrestled with each other, bashing into walls and knocking down pictures before they reached the kitchen and Bond finally finagled the upper hand. He reached behind and, as best as he could, gripped his attacker's biceps hard and then ran backwards into the nearest wall, slamming the man into the plaster over and over again. Finally, once Bond was convinced his foe was buying the little charade, he pulled a sneaky move. He suddenly bent double, jerking the attacker off his feet long enough for his hold on Bond to loosen. Bond rearranged his arms, tightened his grip on his enemy's biceps, and threw him over his head down onto the kitchen table, which splintered into pieces with the force of the crash.

Angrily swiping blood away from his face, Bond searched for his discarded gun, locating it lying near the corpse of the first intruder. But the fight was not over yet, for Bond's ears pricked up at the sound of the second assailant rising from the pile of English oak, not even groaning in pain. _Good God, what do I need to take this tosser out? Kryptonite? _Gun freshly cocked and drawn, he whipped around to come face-to-face with a Beretta aimed at his head and his enemy grinning evilly as he prepared to pull the trigger…

A gunshot reverberated through the kitchen, but it came from neither the attacker's gun nor Bond's. Bond watched in morbid fascination as the intruder's eyes grew wide in shock and his mouth went slack; blood streamed down his face from a round hole in his forehead, where a bullet now gleamed. As if in slow motion, the man fell facedown onto the floor, revealing a gaping hole in the back of his skull where the bullet went through. Gun still raised, Bond looked up to the darkened dining room adjoining the kitchen, where he could make out three things: smoke hanging in the air from the gunshot, the gleam of a gun barrel pointed straight at his heart, and the vague outline of a woman standing in the darkness, the weapon clutched in her right hand. _Lady Margaret? _Even so, Bond wasn't taking any chances, his Walther still aimed at her as long as she was taking aim at him. _Better let her speak first; it might delay her putting a bullet through _my _brain._

"I only need one shot," the woman warned, the hand holding her gun never shaking for an instant.

At the sound of her voice, Bond's heart did a backflip. _My God, her voice… _a little higher-pitched than the voice of her sister, but still possessing the same deep, almost sexy quality that Bond had known for years, and certainly the same authority and command. "I believe you," he replied, once he'd found his own voice.

"Who are you working for?" No formalities, no _who are you, where are you from, how's the weather been? _She cut to the chase with cold resolve, just as an MI6 operative should.

Certain of her identity now, Bond replied with the truth. "MI6."

Bond thought he saw her gun hand waver for a moment. "Get out."

That wasn't a _you're kidding _get out, that was a _leave before I kill you _get out. Nevertheless, Bond wasn't about to leave without what he came for. "No."

"No?" the woman repeated, cocking her gun with a click that seemed to echo in the still kitchen. "You're either incredibly stubborn or incredibly stupid for saying that to me."

"True, but isn't every double-0 incredibly stubborn _and _incredibly stupid?" Bond asked, eyeing her outline in the shadows. "You have to be stubborn enough to stand up to an enemy and stupid enough to chase after danger in the first place."

Bond could have sworn he saw her cock her head and study him for a moment. "You're a double-0?" When Bond nodded, certain that she could see him, she continued, "If you're really MI6, prove it."

"Well, for starters, that gun in your hand is a Walther PPK circa 1999," Bond pointed out, having studied the firearm long enough to determine its make, model, and year. "I can't imagine the quartermaster of your day being too chuffed with you for keeping it."

At long last, the woman lowered her gun, albeit slightly; Bond had no doubt she was keeping a wary eye on him. "He never forgave me. But then again, quartermasters don't understand the wear and tear of the field, or the need to protect oneself. I'll let you in on a little secret: retired agents make easier targets."

"Especially if they played a role in the Cold War," Bond began, noting with satisfaction how the woman froze. "Tereshkov, Severnaya, 1989? Ring any bells?"

"Nikolai Tereshkov," she said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. "October 27, 1989. He'd been dealing arms to both the Soviet satellites and the government of East Germany for years, but when we got word that he was preparing to make use of a satellite that could destroy anything with an electronic pulse, as well as destroy an entire economy, we were sent to Severnaya to terminate him. I was the one who killed him, but you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I've done my homework… 009. Or do you prefer either Natalie Grantham or, dare I say it, Lady Margaret?"

Now the woman lowered her gun entirely, clicking the safety on as she did. "None of the above, Mister…"

"Bond," Bond said with a smile, lowering his own weapon. "James Bond."

"Well, well," she said, the faintest trace of amusement in her voice. "We meet at last, 007."

Before Bond could ask how she knew his number, the lights clicked on and he found himself face-to-face with M's sister. Mallory hadn't been lying; Lady Margaret looked nothing like M – as a matter of fact, she was M's physical opposite in every way. M had been 5'1" and curvy, with a silver pixie cut and eyes shaped like almonds. Lady Margaret looked to be 5'5", to Bond's best estimate, and slenderer in form. Her hair, short but thick, was a shining, fiery red, dipping over wide, expressive eyes… _the same color as M's, _Bond thought upon meeting them. Here he had found M and Lady Margaret's one shared physical trait: icy, sapphire-blue eyes. _Fire and ice, _Bond thought, taking in the extraordinary contrast of her hair with her eyes. _Here's hoping she has the personality to match. _"Well, I've got to call you something. What do you prefer? No offense, but I don't think you really look like a Margaret."

"Funny, neither do I," she replied with the ghost of a smile. "If you want to know what I prefer…" She approached him and held out her hand. "It's Maggie."

"Lady Maggie," Bond said, shaking her proffered hand. "How do you know my number?"

"Being a former agent has its advantages, as does being the sister of the head of MI6. Barbara confided in me more than she did her own staff, and she told me a great deal about you, Mr. Bond."

"Really? What exactly did she tell you?"

"Let me put it this way. I never could figure out if you were the pride of her heart or the bane of her existence."

For the first time since their meeting, Bond chuckled. "I'd like to think I was a little of both." His voice grew softer and more serious when he spoke again. "Your sister was the bravest, most extraordinary woman I've ever known, and a bloody good boss on top of it."

"A bloody good sister, too," Maggie said, her tone matching Bond's. "She saved my life."

"Mine too, more times than you probably know."

"Hmm." Maggie turned away from Bond to examine the dead body on the floor. "So what brings you here?" she asked, nudging the corpse with her foot. "This clearly isn't a social call, because most visitors don't come armed with a Walther PPK and a license to kill."

"You're right, it's not," Bond said, figuring he should just cut to the chase. "Our new chief sent me here to fetch you."

"Fetch me?" Maggie laughed, kicking the body to roll him over. "What, am I being punished for taking an antiquated gun from Q Branch?"

"You're being punished, all right," Bond deadpanned. "He's assigned you to be my new partner."

Maggie really did burst out laughing at this, albeit mirthlessly. "You have got to be joking. The same agency that forced me into mandatory retirement years ago now wants to pull me back into the game and partner me with the infamous James Bond?"

"I wish I were joking, but at the moment, my sense of humor has left me for a funnier man. I don't know why my boss is doing this other than to torture me, but you're to come back to MI6 with me and we're both going to be briefed on our first mission."

"There's no _our _or _mission _here, Bond," Maggie said, her voice now deadly cold. "I'm not going back to MI6. As for your new boss, you can tell him to get stuffed."

Now Bond was getting angry. "As tempting as that is, I'm not leaving empty-handed. You're coming with me if I have to tie you up and shove you in the boot of my car."

Maggie shoved herself up close to Bond, breast-to-chest and eyes boring into his with cold anger. "Go ahead, 007. I dare you."

_CRASH!_

The glass windows of the kitchen suddenly shattered, forcing Bond and Maggie to throw up their hands and shield themselves from the glass shards flying everywhere. Gunshots rang out and voices shouted from outside, leaving Bond with only one thought in his head. "Come on, let's go!" he roared, grabbing Maggie's hand and yanking her along with him as they ran out of the kitchen and in search of a quick escape from an unknown evil about to pursue them.

* * *

Cliffhanger! What's going to happen next? Stay tuned and keep on reviewing!


	5. In The Line Of Fire

Last time, Bond and Maggie had their first meeting interrupted by a shooters' ambush, and now they're about to give the assassins a taste of their own medicine - and, of course, argue some more, but Bond has his reasons for not wanting to get close to Maggie.

* * *

"GET DOWN!"

Bond barely had time to react before Maggie grabbed him by the front of his jacket and shirt and jerked him down onto the floor of the threshold just as the front windows shattered with the impact of gunfire from outside; she threw herself on top of him to shield him from the hailstorm of glass. For a good moment, Bond had trouble orienting his thoughts, because he'd received yet another jolt to his stomach when Maggie bellowed that order to him – a jolt that surprised and scared him all at once. He was surprised at her agility and her quick thinking; clearly her training as a double-0 hadn't worn off in the slightest, but was still sharper than a knife blade. What scared him was not the fact that she had yelled in the first place, but another thing altogether. When she yelled, he hadn't merely heard her… he'd heard M. For a split second, it was as though his boss had returned from the dead and was screaming orders to protect him all over again, and the warmth of that female body shielding his from harm only reminded him of the one he'd held in his arms that awful night at Skyfall. He'd never held M that close to himself before, and now to feel Maggie that close, protecting the vital organ he'd embraced her sister against… _no, I can't do this. I can't feel this way. If I start getting sentimental about Lady Maggie, it'll only mean tragedy. I can't go through that. Not again. _Banishing his feelings to the netherworld of his mind, Bond composed his face into the trademark smirk he'd perfected long ago and said, with a note of sardonicism in his voice, "I've heard of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, but this is ridiculous."

Maggie glared down at him with an expression that could have made a demon cry for his mother. "Just watch your back, Bond. I'm not an easy friend to have, and you bloody sure do not want me for an enemy. I can kill you in 10 different ways and make it look like child's play." To emphasize her point, Maggie pressed the muzzle of her gun to Bond's temple; he stared back at her as though she were doing nothing scarier than dangling yarn in front of his face. Whether or not she was impressed with his reaction, Bond couldn't tell, but she did pull her Walther away slowly and get to her feet. As she did, her jacket fell open so Bond could now clearly see the bloodstains dotting her blouse.

"That's not your blood, is it? Did those two –" he indicated the two bleeding corpses lying nearby – "hurt you?"

Maggie stole a quick glance down at herself before sidling beside the nearest broken window. "Don't be ridiculous. The first one came at me with a knife, but he wasn't counting on me bashing a fire iron across his face… and his skull, and any other part of his body I could reach."

"Crikey," Bond said, cursing himself for letting some admiration seep through that one word. The less Maggie heard or saw of his emotions, the better. "I guess that's why his friend hid and then attacked me, because he didn't want to die tasting the iron of both the fire poker and his own blood."

From his position on the floor, Bond saw Maggie roll her eyes. "Bond, are you a poet or a double-0?" she asked with some measure of disgust.

"A double-0," he shot back, hating himself for how childish that sounded.

"Then drag that gym body of yours off the floor and get on the other side of the window. Whoever's shooting at us, we need to draw their fire and get them into plain sight."

Something about the phrasing of that order made Bond smile as he pulled himself upright and crossed to the window. "Gym body, eh? Thanks for noticing."

Maggie cut her eyes at him. "Shut up, 007."

Flattening himself against the wall, Bond held his gun up beside his face and snuck a glance out the window. "I'll take that as a 'You're welcome,'" he muttered, loud enough for Maggie to hear and snap back at him.

"You'll take it as an order from your partner."

"Oh, we're partners now, are we? I thought you didn't want to return to MI6 come hell or high water."

"Well, Bond, seeing as the Thames hasn't overflowed its banks and hell has paid us a call, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Bond threw Maggie a _you're bonkers _look. "Well, how can I argue with that kind of logic?" he asked acidly.

Maggie returned his cutting expression with an icy smile. "You can't."

Now it was Bond's turn to roll his eyes. _Typical woman; always has to have the last – _"SHOOT HIM!" he roared upon seeing the sun glint off the nose of a semiautomatic just barely poking out of the bushes across the street. Thinking fast, Bond stuck his Walther out the window and squeezed off three rounds into the shrubbery; the assault weapon dropped out of the front of the bush and its assassin out of the back, lifeless. The deafening shots, however, had clearly gotten the attention of the other killers, for three of them came sprinting out of their hidey-holes with weapons drawn; the two in the lead immediately opened fire on the house.

Bond and Maggie ducked to each side of the window as the bullets zinged past them, punching holes in the stairs and the walls. Maggie, a snarl on her lips and fire blazing in her eyes, aimed for the leader on the right and fired two rounds. Both missed and she pulled herself back into the house, clearly angry with herself. "Blast it!" she growled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out another cartridge.

"You must be attached to that gun if you carry ammo in your pocket," Bond said wryly despite the intensity of their situation.

Maggie slid the new cartridge into place and shut it in with a sharp click. "Some women carry lipstick, others pepper spray. This is my idea of feminine protection." She cocked the gun anew and, after the next volley of bullets came spraying into the house, aimed for the leader once more and fired. The assassin in Maggie had evidently been riled – one second, the killer was about to pull the trigger on his semiautomatic; the next, blood burst out of the back of his skull in a fountain, spraying both of his cohorts before he collapsed to the ground, bleeding from the holes in the front and back of his head.

Whether it was the blood spattering their faces or the fact that their leader had been shot so close to them, the remaining two shooters grew roots where they were. Bond and Maggie watched intently as the men looked first at the body, then back up at each other. Some silent exchange evidently took place between them, for in the next instant, they turned tail and ran off down the street, leaving the corpse behind them.

"There's a novelty," Maggie observed, lowering her Walther. "They're either scared stupid or running off to get the vehicle they came in and chase us down."

"I'm inclined to believe the latter," Bond said with some urgency, taking Maggie's arm and marshaling her out of the front door. "Come on. We've got to make a run for it before they come back."

"I trust you have a car of your own, because I highly doubt we'll get anywhere on foot."

"Patience, milady." Bond pulled Maggie across the street to where the Jag was still parked – and mercifully unscathed. Letting go of her hand, he was about to open the passenger door for her, but started when he saw her run over to the driver's side. "Where do you think you're going?"

Maggie paused to stare pointedly at Bond over the roof of the car. "I _think_ I'm getting in on the driver's side, and I _know _I'm driving."

Bond blinked, his mouth half-open. "You _know _you're driving? You've got bloody nerve, woman."

"It's part of my charm. You'll learn to love me for it."

"Don't bet on it."

"Then don't argue with me. Get in!"

With a disgusted sigh, Bond yanked open the passenger door and flung himself into the car, slamming the door shut as he went. By this time, Maggie had joined him and was now belting herself in; Bond was about to follow suit when she slapped his shoulder. "Not you; don't belt yourself in."

"And why not?" Bond asked, not caring if he sounded defiant.

"Because I need you to cover me once they come after us," Maggie said, holding her hand out for the keys; Bond grudgingly dropped them into her palm. "Return their fire and hang out the window doing it, if needs be."

Incredulous, Bond watched her as she put the keys in the ignition and fired the car up. "You do realize that this is a company car, right? All the windows are bulletproof."

"Yes, but the car is not indestructible." Maggie turned her gaze to Bond, an ironic gleam in her blue eyes. "And neither are you."

All Bond could do in reply to that statement was stare back at her, blue into blue. He hated to admit it, but she was right. _You're right, I'm not indestructible. Losing your sister bloody near destroyed me. _He glanced out the windscreen for the briefest of moments and reverted his gaze to Maggie, his expression still impassive. "You might want to put your foot down."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "What, Bond; take it out of my mouth?"

"No, because French and Saunders are just rounding the bend as we speak."

Maggie snapped her gaze back to the front just in time to see the two shooters come flying around the corner in a Land Rover, the one in the passenger seat leaning out the window with his weapon drawn. Pressing her lips together, Maggie grabbed the gearshift and threw the Jag into third gear. "Hang on!" she cried to Bond, flooring the accelerator and winging the Jag out onto the road; the car took off like a greased rocket with their enemies in hot pursuit, tearing out of the once-quiet neighborhood and into the heart of London.

* * *

Another cliffhanger! Are Bond and Maggie going to get away from the shooters? Where will their great escape take them in London? For my British readers, do you have any particular place in London you'd like to see the chase go? Let me know, and keep the reviews coming!


	6. The Great Escape

I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Last time, Bond and Maggie were escaping from the killers. Now, they're tearing through London in the Jaguar, Maggie behind the wheel and Bond putting up a fight - with the bad guys and his feelings.

* * *

Cars honked and people cursed and shook their fists at the Jaguar flying past them, cutting them off, and generally creating havoc among the general decorum that was London during the day. This would typically be a normal day on the job for Bond, but considering that he was in the passenger seat, in danger of being thrown through the windscreen while his newfound partner – who set the gold standard for woman drivers everywhere, as far as he was concerned – was tearing through London like a bat out of hell with two pursuant pillocks on their tail, Bond thought it was pretty safe to assume that the entire world had gone mad.

"OUCH!" The car hit a bump in the road, jolting Bond out of his seat so violently that his head hit the ceiling with a loud thud. "How did I know you'd give me a headache?" he griped, massaging his skull.

"Oh, stop whining," Maggie snapped, spinning the wheel to the left and winging them onto Edgware Road, heading for the vicinity of St. John's Wood and Regent's Park. "If you're smart – and I use that term loosely – you'll do what I said and shoot at them."

"Before or after you drive this car into the lake in Regent's Park?" Bond asked, pulling out his Walther and a fresh cartridge of bullets.

"I'm not heading for the lake!"

"Why, afraid you'll melt?" Bond quipped, shutting the new cartridge in with a snap.

As Maggie turned to him, the expression on her face surprised him. Rather than the filthy look he was expecting, what he got was a rather wicked grin. "You know what they say, Bond: If you can't fly with the big girls, stay off the broom."

To his consternation, Bond once again felt admiration swelling within him. She could take whatever he dished out and throw it right back in his face with a clever turn of phrase, much like… _shut up, James, shut up! Don't get sentimental. She's not M, for crying out loud! All you have to do is look at her to know that. It doesn't matter if she's fiery, strong, commanding, beautiful… blimey, what am I thinking? Focus! You've got a job to do and your life depends on it, so just bloody do it! _Shaking his head as though hoping to shed the thoughts, Bond raised his gun and turned his attention to the window… although he couldn't help noticing that a strange, warm feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach.

Sticking his head out the window, Bond craned his neck around to get a better look at the Land Rover. The idiot on the passenger side was fiddling around with his gun, apparently trying to reload it, while the idiot behind the wheel was sporting an expression reminiscent of Cruella DeVil. Seizing the opportunity, Bond swung his gun arm out and took aim at the truck's right front tire, cursing when the bullet missed. The next instant, the muzzle of a semiautomatic poked out of the passenger window of the Land Rover and sprayed off a volley of bullets, not two seconds after Bond ducked back inside the car. The hailstorm of ammo thundered against the back of the Jag, but left little more than dents thanks to the bulletproof glass paned in the windows. "If you've got a plan, now would be a good time to put it into action," Bond said pointedly to Maggie, who was now steering them directly into Regent's Park.

"Bond, there's one thing you need to know about me. I don't plan, I improvise," Maggie returned as they came up on the London Zoo.

"And what kind of improvisation do you have planned? Tear through the zoo and hope they crash through the reptile house? With the luck we're currently having, the next things chasing us will be every Amur tiger in captivity!"

"Who needs tigers when you've got a lion and a unicorn?"

Bond rolled his eyes. "I don't see any horn protruding from under that ginger forelock of yours."

"Oh no, I'm not the unicorn here, 007. You are!"

Bond's head snapped around in Maggie's direction. "_What?_ You think _I'm _a unicorn?"

"As pretty as you are, how could you be anything else?" Maggie turned to flash him an annoyingly smug smirk before returning her attention to the road. "Watch and learn. There's method to my madness, and I don't want any smart remarks on that one out of you."

Bond held up his hands in mock surrender. "Me, make smart remarks? You've got sharp claws, milady."

"Every lioness does. Get used to it, Bond."

_I got used to it a long time ago. I just didn't think I'd ever know it again. _Bond hadn't even realized they were out of the park and now in Piccadilly Circus until the Shaftesbury memorial fountain whizzed past in his peripheral vision. "Where exactly are you leading them?"

"Well, it bloody well isn't to Fortnum & Mason," Maggie replied, flying through Piccadilly and on to Trafalgar Square, paying no attention to the rude gestures aimed in her direction or the derogatory comments about her driving. "We're going to Vauxhall."

"Vauxhall? What's so special about – oh, for crap's _sake!_" Bond rammed himself out the window again and fired off four rounds at the Land Rover, shattering the windscreen and clipping Idiot 2 in the shoulder; the lorry swerved dangerously and several pedestrians were forced to dive out of the way, belly-flopping onto the pavement and screaming the whole while. With a disgusted sigh, Bond pulled himself back in and said, "Anyway, Vauxhall?" as calmly as though he'd done nothing more than shoot pictures like some ruddy tourist.

"You've got extra weapons in here, have you not?" When Bond's expression showed surprise, Maggie said, "Oh, come on, Bond, the cars may have changed significantly since I was an agent, but the arsenal can't be any different. Are there or are there not grenades in the glove compartment?"

Bond snuck a glance at the glove compartment as though expecting the grenades to pop out and do a little song-and-dance like those infernal California raisins of American adverts. "Yes, six of them."

"Good. Get one out and wait until I say OK."

Bond had opened the glove compartment and even had a grenade in his hand when he froze in realization. "Hang on. You're not just talking about Vauxhall itself. You're talking about Vauxhall Cross. You're leading them right to the old MI6 headquarters."

"_Old _being the operative word," Maggie said as she spun them onto the turn past Westminster Abbey. "The building's been declared off-limits, so nobody's going to go near it except us. This means we have the advantage."

"No innocent casualties."

"Exactly, and we have the shell of the building on one side and the Thames on the other. The building's already suffered extensive damage from the attack last month, so a grenade explosion nearby will seem like small potatoes. And if we can drive them into the river as a last resort, we're no worse off!"

Bond absorbed the plan with his mouth half-open. "You know, you're right."

"Lesson number two, Bond: I'm always right."

Fighting the smile that threatened to split his face, Bond turned his attention to the windscreen. They were fast approaching the South Bank – and the old building he once knew like the back of his hand. "All right, then." He turned the black grenade over in his hand, tentatively fingering the pin. "Let's turn up the heat."

Just as they reached the back side of the MI6 building, the idiots in pursuit unleashed another round of semiautomatic fire on the Jag. Stealing a glance at Maggie, Bond saw her nod, her eyes sparking. Acting fast, Bond pulled the pin with his teeth and hurled the grenade out the window toward the Land Rover, praying that it wouldn't miss. As though some invisible hand were guiding it, the little bomb soared right through the broken windscreen and landed into the cab of the lorry. The last expression Bond saw on the faces of Tweedledee and Tweedledum was one of mutual horror before the grenade went off and the Land Rover exploded, sending flames and smoke shooting into the air.

Maggie fishtailed the car around to face the burning lorry and stopped, turning her eyes to Bond. He was staring at the fire with an unreadable look etched into his face, the flames casting a haunting light into his bright blue eyes. "Bond? Are you all right?"

Bond answered without looking at her once. "I know it's not the same thing, but it makes me think. What if this was how M felt when she saw the building explode?"

Maggie was taken aback by his question. "Well, how do _you _feel?"

"Empty. Hollow. Like nothing's been accomplished except the act of some unknown, unseen evil."

"What do you mean, nothing's been accomplished? We got away, Bond; we killed them before they killed us." When Maggie spoke again, Bond was amazed at how soft her voice had become. "We saved each other's lives."

The gentle truth only clawed at his soul. "No matter how many lives I save, it won't make up for the one I lost." His cerulean eyes met Maggie's sapphire ones. "And honestly, I don't know if anybody can save my life now."

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. "Bond, don't start sniveling now. I need a partner who throws grenades and smart comebacks, not a pity party. And don't look at me like I'm a heartless witch, either. She would have said the very same thing to you, and you know it." When all Bond did was stare at her, dumbstruck, Maggie put the Jag back into drive. "Come on. I need you to show me the way to our new office."

As they left Vauxhall Cross behind, Bond couldn't help but continue to stare at Maggie in amazement… and fidget uncomfortably when the warm feeling returned to his stomach.


	7. To Catch A Thief

Last time, Bond and Maggie's first adventure came to an explosive close. Now, they've arrived at MI6, where Mallory will brief them on their big mission - and deliver some rather interesting news, as well as a big bombshell.

* * *

"Jolly atmosphere, don't you think?"

"The rats certainly think so."

"_Rats?_"

Bond thought his ribs were going to break from holding in the laughs as Maggie all but leaped into his arms. "Relax, milady. I was only joking."

Angrily, Maggie gave Bond's shoulder a shove. "You've really got a warped sense of humor, 007."

Bond shrugged indifferently as they kept on walking down the dank passage that led to the underground offices of MI6. "At least I finally discovered one fear of yours. You're scared of rats."

Maggie cut her eyes toward him. "There's one rat down here I'm not afraid of."

"That hurt," Bond deadpanned, slapping a hand against his heart. "But I'm not the rat you should be worrying about."

"And which rat _should _I concern myself over, dare I ask?"

"The rat sitting behind the desk in the chief's office, who has the audacity to call himself M."

The venom in Bond's voice caught Maggie's ear. "Bond, if he's the new head of the department and his last name begins with an M, isn't that what he's supposed to call himself?"

"I don't care. I'm not calling him or anyone else in that position M. Nobody else deserves that title after her."

Maggie could have sworn she heard Bond's voice catch, but she let it lie, picking the conversation up again. "In that case, what do you call him?"

"_Sir_, primarily. If I wasn't so worried he'd sack me for it, I'd still call him Mallory."

"Gareth Mallory? That ferret-faced josser who used to head the Intelligence and Security Committee is now in charge of Her Majesty's Secret Service?"

Again, Bond had to chew his tongue to keep the laughs from erupting. He had to admit, Maggie had a wicked sense of humor and keen observation to go with it – a real lightning-in-a-bottle combination that was an invaluable asset to a double-0. "I take it you're not a big fan of his."

"After the way he treated Barbara, questioning her authority, criticizing her at every turn, and trying to force her into retirement to boot, I wouldn't choose him to be dogcatcher, let alone chief of the most important organization in the British government. And how long have you been dealing with him?"

"A month, which is about 30 days too long."

"My condolences."

At the end of the passage, Bond punched in a code on a nearby keypad and a set of double iron doors slid open, revealing the fluorescent lighting, hustle, and bustle of the subterranean Secret Service. Agents, technicians, and aides filled the place like ants in a colony, scurrying back and forth in the never-ending effort to ensure the safety of the UK. "Welcome back to MI6, milady."

Maggie's eyes swept the multitude of suits, lab coats, computers, and chatter that filled the huge space. "I would say it's good to be back, but that seems rather trite coming from a jaded former agent."

Bond turned his piercing blue gaze to her. "We're all jaded. What keeps us going is something worth fighting for."

"Very deep, Bond. What do you have that's worth fighting for?"

One corner of Bond's mouth quirked upward in a half-smile. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

The little interlude was quickly interrupted when Tanner arrived on the scene. "Ah, 007, glad to see you're…" His voice trailed off when he caught sight of Maggie and his navy eyes widened in stunned recognition. "Maggie? Is that you?"

For the first time that day, Bond saw Maggie break into a dazzling smile. For the third time, he felt warmth pool in his gut. "Tanner? Bill Tanner, I can't believe it!" she cried, laughing as she and Tanner embraced.

"You two know each other?" Bond asked, unable to mask the surprise on his face.

"We go way back," Tanner answered over Maggie's shoulder, never breaking the hug for a second. "On the occasions that M had Colleen and me over for dinner, Maggie would join us and then proceed to whip our bums at Scrabble."

"Oh, Tanner, I didn't whip you," Maggie countered, her eyes glittering. "I slaughtered you, and you know it!"

Tanner gave her a gentle smack on the back and pulled out of the hug, holding her at arm's length. "It's so good to see you. You look beautiful!"

"No, I don't," Maggie disagreed, shaking her head. "I clean up well, that's all."

Looking at her now, Bond secretly agreed with Tanner. Maggie was animated and genuinely cheerful, her face aglow with that lovely smile and her eyes lit like stars. She looked positively radiant, and that marvelous laugh of hers was enough to hook his heart and kick the beats up a few notches. Unfortunately, all Bond felt like doing in response was kicking himself in the pants for allowing his traitorous body to go into Hanna-Barbera mode.

"You say so, but I still say you're beautiful. How are you holding up?"

Maggie's smile slipped. "As well as can be expected. You?"

Tanner shrugged. "I'm coping. We all are. It's hard sometimes, but you know the old saying: keep calm and carry on. We've commissioned a special memorial for her; thought you'd be pleased to hear that."

Maggie squeezed Tanner's hand. "Tanner, Barbara thought the world of you. She may not have said it to your face, but she often told me that she couldn't have asked for a better chief of staff. I think she'd be pleased to know that you're working to keep her memory alive."

Blinking furiously, Tanner swallowed and said, "Thanks, Maggie. You don't know how much that means, coming from you." A beat of silence followed before Tanner cleared his throat and returned to his businesslike composure as best as he could. "So… you're going to want to see Himself."

"Himself?" Maggie asked, frowning in confusion.

"The ferret-faced josser," Bond whispered in her ear.

"It's a little joke amongst those of us who are still loyal to your sister," Tanner explained to Maggie. "We're all of the private opinion that Mallory weaseled his way into the boss's chair, so we refer to him as Himself."

"Ah, so Bond's not the only one who refuses to call him M," Maggie said, shooting a meaningful glance at Bond.

"No, he's in good company. Whether or not you wish to call him M after you meet him is your decision, but I'll let you be the judge in that case." Tanner swept a hand forward. "Follow me," he said, leading Bond and Maggie on to Mallory's office.

When they arrived, Tanner announced them and took his leave; Mallory rose from his chair and approached with his good hand extended. "Lady Margaret, welcome back to MI6."

"Thank you, but please, drop the 'Lady' and call me Maggie," Maggie replied, shaking his hand firmly.

Mallory smiled, rather guilelessly for him, Bond thought. "As you wish." He then turned his attention to Bond. "007, I congratulate you for bringing her here alive and in one piece; well done."

A wry smile twisted Bond's lips. "With all due respect, sir, you should be congratulating Lady Maggie. After all, it's thanks to her driving skills that we made it here alive and in one piece."

"Really?" Mallory's eyebrows arched at this revelation. "Do tell."

When Bond and Maggie finished relaying the afternoon's adventures to him, Mallory nodded and said, "Well, it certainly sounds as though you two had quite an exciting afternoon. Most couples don't even say boo to each other, much less bash around town playing bumper tag with a pair of snipers."

"Whoa, wait a minute, sir," Bond said, throwing out a hand in protest. "We're not a couple."

Mallory's smile suddenly took on a bit of an evil edge. "That's what you think." When both Bond and Maggie stared at him dumbfounded, he motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, you two, have a seat." As soon as all present were seated, Mallory leaned forward in his own chair and fixed the new partners with a pointed stare. "I'm sure you're both dying to know what this mysterious mission I have in mind for you is."

"Yes, and I'm sure _dying _is the operative word, isn't it?" Bond said sarcastically, crossing his legs and clasping his hands together in his lap.

"Not if you both play your cards right, it won't be. It may surprise you to know that this mission is of great interest to the two of you, because it pertains to a certain deceased terrorist by the name of Raoul Silva."

It was as though someone had whirled the knob on the thermostat and plunged the room into Arctic temperatures. Bond felt his blood run cold at the mention of M's killer; next to him, he could sense Maggie tensing up as well. "What's he got to do with this? He's dead, isn't he?" Bond asked, his voice as frigid as the atmosphere.

"He is, but a certain protégé of his is not," Mallory stated matter-of-factly. "We have no idea what her real name is, but intel states that she's a terrorist of a different kind. She uses technology to achieve the ends to her means, but she's not a hacker like Silva was. Her field is more along the lines of superweapons."

"Such as?"

"How much do either of you know about gem-powered lasers?"

Maggie spoke first. "Ruby lasers were first used in 1960, primarily for rangefinding. Now, they're used by industries for diamond drilling."

"Diamonds are used mainly in X-ray laser technology, because their crystalline structure can magnify, reflect, and project the electromagnetic spectrum farther than a typical silicon laser. Also, they are used in laser drills because diamond is the hardest mineral known to man, hence the expression 'diamonds are forever.'"

"Well, diamonds won't be forever if this girl's plan succeeds. Rumor has it on the terrorism grapevine that emeralds are more her taste. According to our research, emerald lasers are the brightest and most powerful lasers in the world, almost a thousand times brighter than standard red light and so strong that if they are pointed toward space, they stand the chance of throwing satellite communications off-kilter and causing aircraft and potentially objects in outer space to crash to Earth. If a handheld emerald laser can cause that much damage, think what one of monstrous size could do."

"Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road," Bond quipped.

Mallory reached into a desk drawer and withdrew two criminal profiles, handing one to Maggie and the other to Bond. "In the last month, there have been ten major jewel heists in Europe, in which great quantities of emeralds were stolen. Five have taken place in Spain and five have taken place in Italy, and the girl has used a different disguise for each country, as well as a different name."

Bond studied the profile in his hand. A blurry picture of a tanned senorita with long black hair and sunglasses was attached to it; beneath the photo was the name for the country in question. "Esmeralda Diamante. That translates to 'emerald diamond' in Spanish, which would have suited her during her time in Spain."

"As did her name in Italy," Maggie observed, showing him the Italian profile. The picture this time showed a strawberry blonde. "Gemma Ametista, alias 'gem amethyst.' The girl is obsessed with jewels, no doubt about it."

"Which is why you two need to be aware of names where you're going. Since she's used two jewel names before, we have reason to believe that she'll stick to the pattern."

"Speaking of which, sir, where exactly are we going?" Bond asked.

"Well, Bond, regarding that subject, I have good news and bad news. The good news is, she's going to be at a high-function jewel auction and party in Honolulu, Hawaii, in two days. You're both to go there and put a stop to the trouble in paradise."

Bond and Maggie looked at each other in surprise, but pleasure. There were definitely worse places they could have gone… but if Bond knew Mallory, there had to be a catch. "What's the bad news?"

Mallory grinned wickedly. "The bad news is, you're both going undercover – as a married couple."

"_WHAT?!_"

"Congratulations." Mallory lay back in his chair and laughed as Bond and Maggie glared daggers first at him, then at each other. No question that this was going to be fun.


	8. Diamonds Are Forever

Last time, Bond and Maggie got a bit of a surprise along with their assignment. Now, "Mr. and Mrs. Bond" are off to Q Branch to receive their new gadgets for the mission, and to have a bit of a chat with Q.

* * *

The day following their "wedding announcement," Bond met up with Maggie outside the entrance to Q Branch. Mallory had sent them home the day before with orders to "rest up for the big day," twiddling them a nauseatingly chipper wave as they went. Quashing the urge to whip around and knock Mallory all the way into next Christmas, Bond escorted Maggie out of the office and borrowed another Jaguar for the ride back to Notting Hill.

"Good thing Tanner offered to let me stay with him and Colleen for the night. I don't care if I ever see that house again."

"Oh, come on, milady. Everyone has a few skeletons in the closet; it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"_Not funny. _I mean that it's just as well. I may have lived there for ten years, but every time I looked at it from the outside, it was always a reminder of the retirement I didn't want. And now that Barbara's left her house to me in her will, I can move in once this farce of a mission is over. It'll be like having a part of her with me all the time."

"She left you her house? She left me Jack."

"Really, Bond, just because she didn't leave you anything is no reason to be so bitter."

"No, I mean she left me her Royal Doulton bulldog. I named him Jack for obvious reasons."

"A dog for a dog; how appropriate."

"Yeah, I thought so too. Now let's get your things and get back so we can 'rest up for the big day'."

"I could kill him for saying that."

"Take a number. There's a queue."

Fortunately, they managed to get Maggie packed and back out of the house without another ambush. Now, after a rather restless night (in which Bond had a bizarre dream about the rice from his abandoned Chinese dinner hurling itself at him while the chopsticks drummed out Mendelssohn's wedding march and the fortune cookies did a pagoda dance with cocktail umbrellas), here they were, about to pay the Quartermaster a visit.

Maggie looked Bond up and down as he came to stand beside her. "You look well for a man who's been pushed into a marriage of inconvenience."

Bond snickered. "That's a good way of putting it. To tell you the truth, I almost didn't get any sleep last night."

"Don't tell me. Cold feet?"

"Suffice it to say I won't be eating rice for a while."

Maggie's lips curved into a grin as Bond leaned down to the eyelock next to the door, allowing the laser to scan his left eye. Once the program accepted his iris pattern, the door slid open and Bond motioned for Maggie to enter first, following behind her when she did.

Q Branch was a hotbed of computers, techies, and gadgets, home to the hottest bells and whistles and most dangerous devices that the United Kingdom possessed. Out front, there was the main lab, where most of the testing took place, but Bond wasn't heading for the hubbub. He knew from experience that when you were ordered to report to the Quartermaster, you headed straight for the back, as that was where his private chambers were located.

"Where are we going?"

Bond grinned. How had he known she'd ask that question? "To the Batcave."

"The Batcave? Don't tell me your Quartermaster is some kind of vampire, Bond."

"No, but I'm sure he wishes he had pointed ears of a different variety."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Good Lord. What kind of man is he?"

"One of a kind." Bond cranked the knob that now presented itself and pushed the door to the Quartermaster's domain open – but no sooner had he and Maggie stepped inside than a fiery explosion of red and gold sparks greeted them, about ten feet away in midair. Frozen to the floor, Bond and Maggie watched as more fireworks went off, combusting in beautiful colors of red, blue, green, purple, and gold and sending rainbow flashes dancing around the room – until a switch clicked in the distance and the main lights came on, revealing the flickering, grainy projection that the fireworks were actually comprised of.

Bond shook his head. "Trying to set the world on fire, are you, Q?"

"Remarkable, aren't they?" came an excited voice from the far recesses of the office. "Holographic fireworks. If I could get these out, there'd be far fewer limbs lost during Bonfire Night each year."

"I'd like to see you set these off in Himself's office and gauge how big _that _particular explosion would be."

"Unlike you, 007, I don't have a death wish. Besides, when it comes to Himself, I prefer germ warfare."

Bond chuckled. "I wondered who gave him that nasty cold."

"You know, I almost felt guilty about drinking out of that cup of tea before I brought it to him. Almost." The hologram disappeared completely and out of the back office stepped the Quartermaster, known as Alistair Quinn to precious few and Q to all at MI6. A chap who surprised many at the agency by his age alone, Q looked a good decade younger than his 30 years, with an unruly mop of dark hair that was impossible to tame and keen hazel eyes shining behind horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in black trousers, white shirt, blue tie, and a matching cardigan sweater, and his eyebrows arched when he caught sight of Maggie. "You must be Lady Maggie," he said, extending his right hand to her.

"And you must be the Quartermaster," Maggie replied, shaking his hand somewhat awkwardly. "Please don't take offense, but you seem awfully young for such a position."

A smile played about Q's mouth. "Young in body, but old in spirit, unlike some people in this room," he teased, shooting a look at Bond.

"If that's supposed to be a slam against my level of maturity, I take that as a compliment," Bond retorted. "My previous quartermasters told me to grow up on a daily basis, so it's nice to see the tables turned at last."

"Considering that you're ostensibly one-half of a May-December couple, I'm not the one who has some growing up to do, 007."

"Boys!"

At the crack of Maggie's voice, the boys halted the argument dead in its tracks. Bond cleared his throat and began, "Anyway. Q?"

"Ah, yes. New toys." Q motioned them forward with a wide sweep of his arm. "Follow me, please."

Maggie waited until Q was a few feet ahead of them before whispering to Bond, "_He's _the Quartermaster?"

"You were expecting some doddering old fool in a lab coat?" Bond asked quietly.

"Well, I wasn't expecting Harry Potter, that's for sure!"

They walked down a narrow corridor until they found themselves in a cavernous room, which flooded with light the instant Q hit a button on the wall nearby. Sitting right in the middle was a brand-new Aston Martin DB5, shining burnished silver and just begging to be driven at the speed of light. Bond grinned at the sight of her, ignoring Maggie's remark, "Bond, close your mouth before you salivate all over the bonnet of that car."

"Beautiful, isn't she? The newest model off the DB5 assembly line, although we've made a few modifications, of course." Pulling a crystalline remote out of his pocket, Q proceeded to display the car's superspy improvements. "Front machine guns, front and rear bumpers that double as battering rams, standard revolving license plates to confuse any idiot on your tail, an ejector seat on the passenger side, oil slick, smoke screen, and a state-of-the-art navigation system, complete with autopilot should you be otherwise engaged."

"At the present time, I _am_ otherwise engaged," Bond quipped with a sideways glance at Maggie, who gave him a face in return.

"Speaking of which…" Q made his way over to a nearby table, which glittered with an array of diamonds, enough to make the Queen herself green with envy. "No bride should be without diamonds."

"How…" Maggie breathed, marveling at the jewelry within her reach.

"Not _how_, Lady Maggie, but _what,_" Q stated, picking up the nearest piece of jewelry, a magnificent necklace consisting of two pear-shaped diamonds suspended from a chain of oval-cut diamonds. "I can assure you they're real, save for this little one here in the middle." He pointed to a hexagon-shaped claret crystal linking the two pear-shaped diamond stones. "This was made with the same chemical composition as any other diamond so that even the most eagle-eyed of gemologists will be fooled, but deep within is a miniscule camera. It's a fiber-optic lens that will capture any image clearer than the crystal it's embedded in, which will come in handy relaying pictures and footage back here, so that we can identify potential terrorists at that jewel auction."

Laying the necklace down, he raised a pair of bracelets before their eyes. "These may look like pretty diamond bangles, but watch." He pressed his finger to one of the bracelets and a magnetic force suddenly yanked them together with a loud clang. "Magnetic, automatic handcuffs."

"Gives new meaning to the term 'prison jewelry,'" Bond observed wryly.

"Your engagement ring," Q continued, holding up a white gold band encrusted with a circle of diamonds and one massive square-cut diamond crowning the center. "5.5 carats, flawless, and deadly. If you turn it so… stand back, please…" Q aimed the ring at a nearby test dummy and gave the square diamond a twist; the next minute, Bond and Maggie jumped as a brilliant white laser beam shot out of the ring and nuked the dummy's head, sending sparks raining to the concrete floor and the acrid smell of burned rubber into the air.

"Beautiful and dangerous. Sounds like someone I know." Bond flashed Maggie an innocent smile as she turned a cynical glare on him. When she turned back to see Q holding a pair of diamond teardrop earrings, she asked, "And what do these do?"

"Nothing, really. These are just for show."

Maggie snickered. "Figures."

"Approximately £5200, but who's counting?" With a quirky grin at Maggie, Q was about to move along down the table when he was stopped by Bond.

"I'm curious, Q. How does a man who lives on Earl Grey and Hula Hoops manage to hack off such valuable pieces of ice?"

"Confiscated African conflict diamonds," Q confided in a silent tête-à-tête. "The ones you brought back from that mission in North Korea, apparently. The Powers That Be at the time didn't want to raise a scandal by accepting blood diamonds that were stolen by a North Korean madman, so M struck a deal with them: British protection in any future conflict in exchange for the whole lot of the diamonds. Once we got them in our possession, M gave Q Branch full permission to use them to construct our own weapons, craft modified jewelry for missions, anything as long as it went through her first. Of course, Himself once asked her if she'd kept any of the diamonds for herself and she told him to bog off; little did he know that we once made her a diamond ring as a thank-you present for letting us work with the gems."

Bond smiled. "Wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove, that was M."

"Funny you should mention wisdom, 007, because that's exactly what I want you to exercise once I entrust you with this." Q sidled on down the line and placed a shining silver watch in Bond's hand. "Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean, with a twist. Turn the face clockwise three times and it automatically arms itself; you'll have ten seconds to throw it before it detonates. Turn the face counterclockwise three times, and it disarms, ready to tell you when it's time for tea."

Bond chuckled in his throat as he strapped the watch onto his left wrist. "Talk about your ticking time bombs."

"Ha-ha. This way." Further on down the line, Q stopped in front of two small black cases, handing the first one to Maggie. "Ladies first." He opened the case. "Rumor had it you were still using a Walther from the previous millennium, so I thought you deserved to trade up. This is a 2012 Walther PPK 9 millimeter short, specially calibrated to your palm print so only you can fire it."

"Less of a random killing machine and more of a personal statement, as he informed me only last month," Bond spoke up, watching Maggie lift the gun out of the case and test its grip in her hand.

"Before you fed it to the komodo dragons in Shanghai," Q countered dryly before handing the other case to Bond. "Your new Walther, and please try to return this one intact."

"Q, I'm afraid if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," Maggie remarked, placing her own gun back in its case. "There's always the off-chance that something will get lost out in the field."

"Well, I pray that neither one of you will lose what I'm about to give you, because these will save what you definitely don't want to lose at any cost: your lives." Rather than moving along down the table, Q plunged his hands into his pockets and withdrew two rings – one silvery, the other iron-gray. "No need to explain what these are. This one is yours, Lady Maggie; pure white gold, and this one is yours, 007; solid titanium. Both rings are equipped with a special alarm system that links one to the other – if either or both of you are in any form of danger or distress, there are sensors built into the bands that will pick up on the sensations in your skin or emotional radiations in your bodies and send a signal out to the other ring. The ring will then vibrate against your finger and thus inform you of the other's situation." Q then presented the rings to Bond and Maggie. "I now pronounce you man and wife."

Once Bond had his ring in hand, he turned to Maggie with an impish grin. "Does this mean I get to kiss the bride?"

Maggie returned his grin evenly. "Try it, and it won't be my lips you're kissing, 007."

"Would you two like some privacy?" When that won him nothing but a dual death glare, Q cleared his throat and said, "Moving on, then." He dug inside his sweater and pulled out two envelopes. "Your plane tickets. I've booked you on tonight's eight o'clock to Honolulu. The plane departs Heathrow and should land at Honolulu International around 9:00 in the morning, which will give you time to sleep on the flight so you won't feel _too _jet-lagged the next day." He passed the tickets over to them. "Best of luck to you both."

"Just don't throw rice at us on our way out," Bond said before he and Maggie took their leave.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Bond," Q called after their retreating backs.


	9. Hawaiian Holiday

Last time, our heroes were just leaving Q Branch with their gadgets and plane tickets. Now, their plane has landed in Hawaii and they've got a day to kill before the action begins. Maggie hits the beach, but Bond has a little shopping to do.

This chapter is for Miss Spesh, who gave me a little inspiration (and incentive) to get this one up in a timely fashion. Happy birthday!

* * *

The morning was bright, balmy, and beautiful when Bond and Maggie's plane touched down in Honolulu. Of course, it was also the same date as their departure due to the multiple time zones they'd crossed on the flight over the Atlantic, but all fears of confusion and jet lag vanished when the beauty of Hawaii washed over them. Warm tropical breezes, palm trees, white sand, and brilliant blue ocean everywhere one looked, all wrapped up in sunshine and azure skies… it was a far cry from the wind, rain, and chills of wintertime in England. It was also the ideal location for the perfect honeymoon, as Bond never tired of teasing Maggie once they'd arrived at the hotel Moneypenny had chosen for them.

"Hawaii is known as the honeymoon capital of the world, you know."

"Stuff it, Bond. This is a job, not some romantic getaway."

"Romantic, you say?"

"Don't get any ideas, 007."

_It's a bit late for that, _Bond thought, his eyes glued to Maggie as they crossed the car park. The wind was playing with her hair, making it appear even more flame-like than usual, and the sun only heightened the resemblance by playing peekaboo with the deeper tones of gold among the shining red. Bond was enchanted, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair and if it was really as soft as it looked…

Two beautiful Hawaiian women provided a good distraction, each bearing a colorful lei, the traditional symbol of welcome and love on the Hawaiian Islands. "Aloha," greeted the one on the right; Bond inclined his head so she could place the lei around his neck and a kiss on his cheek. "Welcome to Honolulu."

"Thank you very much, Miss…" Bond searched her face for some form of answer.

"Oh, forgive me. My name is Laulani, and this is Makana," she answered, gesturing to her companion, who had just bestowed a lei and a welcoming kiss upon Maggie. "We're so pleased you could come all the way from England to visit here."

Bond grinned and took Maggie's hand. "Well, what better way to celebrate a marriage than by visiting paradise? Thank you again for the welcome." And Bond steered Maggie through the doors and up to the front desk, leaving the girls with their jaws hanging open in stunned bewilderment.

"Congratulations, Bond. You've just managed to traumatize them for life," Maggie said as Bond rang for the concierge.

"I'm just playing the part. As long as we're under cover, we need to at least act like we love each other. Think you can do that?"

Maggie threw Bond a look that clearly said _oh please. _"Rest assured, Bond, I am a far better actress than you give me credit for."

Bond's sharp reply was cut off by the appearance of the concierge. "Welcome. Do you have a reservation?"

"Yes, there should be a reservation under the name of Bond."

The woman's fingers flew over the keyboard of her computer. "Ah yes, Mr. and Mrs. Bond. Odd. For a married couple, you're booked into separate rooms."

_Moneypenny. _"Which floor?"

"You're on the eleventh floor, but don't worry. The rooms have a wonderful view of the ocean." The woman smiled as she handed Bond four card keys – one main key each, and two spares. "Enjoy your stay."

Bond nodded a thank-you and made his way over to the lift, Maggie following close behind him. "Leave it to Moneypenny."

"Remind me to thank her," Maggie said just before the lift doors closed.

By the time they arrived at their suites, they discovered that their luggage had been brought up and was waiting for them inside. Bond opened the door adjoining their rooms and said, "Marvelous view, isn't it?"

"It is indeed." Maggie inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of bougainvillea flowers, coconut, and ocean that seemed to permeate the very air. "I can't remember the last time I smelled something so wonderful."

"Really? Perhaps I should take a shower, then."

"You do what you like. I'm changing my clothes and going down to the beach for a swim. When you have the Pacific Ocean at your front door, it seems pointless not to enjoy it. And if you do choose to tag along, no funny business."

Bond allowed himself a half-smile at that. "I hate to burst your bubble, milady, but I have other plans. As it happens, I have a little shopping to do."

"Shopping?" Maggie scoffed, raising an eyebrow in such a way that Bond was yet again reminded of M. "You?"

"Yes. Bond go shopping. Need new suit. Ug!" Bond gave his chest a thump to match the caveman persona.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Would you like a banana for the road, Tarzan?"

Bond snickered in response before heading back out the door. "Be back soon."

"Stay out of trouble!"

"Bond not blow up island." Bond grinned when he heard Maggie groan in frustration. He was truly enjoying their banter, almost as much as he had with M when she was alive. _She's M's sister, no question about it. Yet she's her own woman as well. She's a challenge… but I like challenges. _Slipping on his sunglasses, Bond set off down the corridor for the lift. He was indeed going shopping, but a new dinner jacket for the jewel auction was not all he was out to buy. As a matter of fact, he was seeing something else in black… a long cool woman in a black dress.

* * *

Sliding the straps of her black bathing costume up onto her shoulders, Maggie couldn't help reflecting on her past two days with Bond. He was every bit as cocky and snarky as Barbara had said, yet he was also funny, resourceful, and surprisingly charming… also as Barbara had said. As far as conversations went, he was the best sparring partner she'd had in a long time, able to take what she dished out and throw it right back at her with a smile. And yes, he was courageous, dedicated to Her Majesty's Secret Service with every fiber of his being, and he was strong… goodness, was he strong.

Yes, she'd noticed he was handsome. She may not have been twenty or even forty years old anymore, but she was still a woman, and she knew a good-looking man when she saw one. He was dangerously close to six feet tall and well-built; clearly he took excellent care of his body. Blond hair, cropped short and shining like burnished gold. And those eyes… dear Lord, she'd never seen such extraordinary blue eyes. They were the exact same color of the Pacific that waved and sparkled so amazingly within reach. She'd also seen little smile lines around them, which made her assess his age somewhere in his mid-forties.

But looking in the mirror now, she suddenly felt like she didn't belong with him. She was 64 years old, with lines defining the angles of her face and a body that was still slim, but not as fit as it was when she was an agent. Back then, chasing down criminals and pumping adrenaline was all the workout she needed, but that had all been snatched from her when she'd been forced into retirement... all because she was "too old" to do her job, a memory that still rankled in her soul to the present day_._

At once, an image of her sister swam before Maggie's eyes. Barbara had been chief of MI6 for five years when the toads at Intelligence & Security suddenly sent her a little love letter saying that Agent 009 was too old to work the field, due to "extenuating circumstances." What were the circumstances? At the time, Maggie was 55, widowed, and – here came the best part - "physically and emotionally scarred by severe psychological trauma and bodily injuries sustained in the field." That was a load of tosh. They'd given her the sack because someone had slipped her a tricky mickey – one meant to knock her out for far longer than a few hours.

Barbara had raised Cain and Abel with them to keep her in the Service, but they wouldn't have changed their minds even if Barbara had done the Macarena in her knickers – and so it was. They stripped Maggie of her license to kill and cut her loose, giving her the so-called present of the posh flat in Notting Hill. The upshot of all that was that Maggie felt less like a grateful retiree and more like an old mare put out to pasture; a dog ordered to sit in the corner and lick her wounds.

Instinctively, Maggie's hand drifted down the outline of her body to rest on her lower abdomen. _I've got my scars. Lord knows how many Bond has... or what I'm even doing with him. Mrs. Bond, what a joke. A man like him married to an old woman like me? Not even if I remotely loved him, which I don't. Not in this lifetime, mate. _A warm breeze caressed Maggie's skin on her way out – yet it wasn't the wind that left a flush in its wake.

* * *

The white sand burned white-hot between Bond's toes as he walked along the beach, but this was nothing to sneeze at compared to some of his other painful experiences. On the contrary, he was feeling pretty chuffed with himself, not only for finding a dinner jacket for himself, but for securing his big surprise for Maggie. True, he'd had to go to three different shops and take the quantum leap out of his comfort zone, but now that he had it, he couldn't help feeling that it was a pity that she wouldn't see it until tomorrow night – and that he hadn't brought a camera to capture the reaction that was sure to come.

But that was tomorrow. Right now, Bond had to focus on today. Feeling peckish after his little excursion, he'd delivered his purchases up to his room, changed into more appropriate clothes (a suit wasn't exactly beach attire), and set off to find Maggie.

When he finally did find her, he had to stop and wait for his heart to quit beating like a conga drum. Clearly, she had been for the promised swim, for her ginger hair was wet and glistening, water droplets sparkling amongst the locks. She was wearing a modest black bathing costume and sunglasses, and her legs – beautiful legs, from what he could see – were tucked beneath her while she rubbed sun cream up and down her arms.

"Enjoying the view, Bond?"

Bond fought a blush as Maggie turned to peer at him over her sunglasses. There were some questions he knew better than to answer, and this was one of them. "How did you know I was here?" he asked before approaching her.

"A friendly word of advice: at the party tomorrow evening, don't bathe in your cologne."

"Forgive me, but I really didn't think that going into a menswear outlet smelling of peanuts and stale sweat was the best way to procure a new dinner jacket."

"Yet you think swaggering onto a beach smelling like the fragrance counter at Harrod's is the best way to attract a lady's attention?"

"Considering that the last lady whose attention I truly attracted betrayed me and broke my heart in Venice, it's never been a foremost thought in my mind."

Maggie opened her mouth as though she were going to pursue that line of conversation, but closed it again, to Bond's relief. The last thing he wanted to do was spoil his pseudo-holiday in Hawaii by dredging up the past. Sensing the sudden discomfort between them, Bond decided to ignore the egg that had been laid and steered the conversation in a different direction. "Any road, I'm done with my errands and I didn't know if you'd like to join me for lunch."

Maggie tipped her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and stared at Bond in disbelief. "Are you feeling well, 007? You're actually inviting me out to lunch?"

"Remember this?" Bond held up his left hand and flexed it, causing the sunlight to reflect off the titanium wedding band circling his ring finger. "It wouldn't be right for a husband to be seen dining out sans his wife. So... what do you say, Mrs. Bond?"

In the pause that followed, Bond saw Maggie glance at the rings on the third finger of her left hand, a tangible reminder of the mission at hand and the facade they had to maintain. Though how anyone could miss that bloody great rock flashing in the sunlight was beyond him. "Oh, all right," she said at last, looking up at him with those big blue eyes. "But on one condition."

"What?"

With an amazingly mischievous grin, Maggie tossed him the bottle of sun cream. "Do my back."

Bond froze right where he was. She wanted him to apply sun cream to her back... touch her very skin? How could she expect him to lay hands on her skin when he felt like jumping clear out of his? And hanged if Maggie hadn't noticed.

"Bond, you're not afraid of me, are you?"

Well, there was the question of the century. There were more answers to that than there were to the old joke about the chicken crossing the road. But right now, it was safer to shove the complicated feelings aside and give the obvious answer. "Of course not."

"Then..." Maggie gave him a _shut-up-and-get-on-with-it _look, one he had learned from M never to ignore.

_All right... here goes nothing. _Plastering a neutral mask onto his face, Bond knelt down behind Maggie and squirted a dollop of sun cream into his hand. After rubbing them together, he held them useless in the air, hesitating, still unsure of his emotions should he even dare to touch her. But if he waited too long, she'd start asking questions and no way was he opening up _that_ can of worms. Inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly, he gently, tentatively laid his hands on her back.

Warmth flooded his body at the touch. Her skin was soft and beautiful, age be hanged. Time had been a friend to her, indeed. All nervousness vanished and he began to work the cream into her skin with new gusto – he was supposed to protect her, and keeping her skin safe from the sun definitely fell under protection, as completely sappy as it sounded. He moved upward from her back to work on her shoulders, circling his hands and fingers in a firm massage. Though his hands were busy, his eyes found a different preoccupation in the nape of her neck. _Do I dare? Well, if she asks, I can pass it off as part of the act, but dear Lord, I want to with all my heart... _His hands still working her shoulders, Bond leaned in and was about to press his lips to Maggie's neck when she suddenly said, "That feels nice."

Bond nearly did jump out of his skin, pulling his head back and jerking his hands away from her shoulders in a flash. Maggie was quick to notice, turning around to face him with curiosity etched into her face. "Bond, why did you stop? That's the greatest massage I've gotten in years."

Bond's emotions breathed a sigh of relief. "Really?"

"Really. It felt wonderful."

_For me too, Maggie. For me, too. _"I'm glad you liked it," Bond said aloud, allowing himself a smile and surprised when Maggie actually returned it, the first true smile she'd given him in the two days since they'd met. And that was when it hit him: they were being _friendly _to each other. He'd done her a favor and she'd paid him a compliment in return.

"Look at us. We're actually being civil to each other," Maggie chuckled, voicing Bond's thoughts aloud.

"Don't expect it to last," Bond warned, though he couldn't help chortling a little himself. "We'll probably be sniping at each other again over lunch."

"True, but at least we can act like we're in love. Right, _darling_?"

_Darling... if only I could be for real. _"Right," Bond replied, allowing Maggie to rise and take a brief lead. "My love," he murmured softly before he followed suit and fell into step with her as they left the beach behind.


	10. Burning Love

I'm so sorry for the delay; this was a tricky chapter that required a lot of research. Anyway, it's later on in the evening, and Bond and Maggie are at a luau when Bond gets a call from an old friend - and they wind up going over to the Big Island for a special meeting. And just in case you're wondering about the chapter title, I was inspired by someone who is very familiar to Hawaii - the King himself, Elvis Presley.

* * *

"How on Earth can they do that without burning themselves?"

"M used to ask me the same question whenever I set a building on fire. All you have to do is watch what you're doing, run like mad, and deny, deny, deny."

"007, I'd hardly compare this display of showmanship to one of your fool's errands. Really, this is quite remarkable."

"That it is. I've always wondered what it'd be like to do that myself."

Maggie glanced over at Bond, tearing her eyes away from the spectacular display of fire dancing before her. "You shouldn't play with fire, Bond," she teased, a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth and humor shining in her eyes. "Get too close and you might get burned."

Bond returned her smile, sensing the dare in her words. If she wanted to flirt with him, he was going to flirt right back and have fun doing it. "I like playing with fire. A little danger, a little excitement; it's all part of the job. But then again, fire can be a beautiful thing. Warm, evocative, glowing... something you can snuggle up next to on a cold winter night. Bright red on the outside..." Bond's eyes flicked upward to Maggie's ginger hair. "And a gorgeous, perfect blue at its heart." His eyes drifted back downward to meet hers. Dear Lord, they were beautiful, sapphire blue and sparkling like the stars in the Hawaiian sky above them.

Bond thought he saw something else flicker in Maggie's eyes, but the good humor never vanished for a fraction of a second. "If I didn't know better, 007, I'd think you were flirting with me."

"What if I am? Can't I flirt with my own wife?" Though his tone was jocular, the full impact of what he had just said socked Bond in the gut. _My wife. I just called her my _wife – _aloud, at that. _As much as he kept trying to tell himself that it was all part of the act, one thing revolved on a spit in his mind: he'd claimed her as his own in calling her his wife, even if it was just a titular role. And even the word _claim _didn't apply to the situation. Maggie was a beautiful, red-blooded woman and a former double-0 on top of it. She was nobody's property, just like her sister. M may not have been anyone's property, but Bond had been hers.

And he'd loved her for it.

"I would hope not," Maggie said, a hint of laughter spicing her voice. "Your idea of a grand day out is eluding assassins while bullets fly through the air; I'd shudder to think what your idea of flirting would be."

"In that case, you're lucky I didn't show up dressed in a grass skirt. You've never seen me hula; I'd be the star of this luau."

"Oh, please. The only way you'd ever be the star of this luau is if they pulled you out of the pit and served you hot and steaming over palm fronds."

Laughter was bubbling up inside Bond, threatening to erupt like Mauna Loa. "Lady Maggie, are you calling me a pig?"

"If the nose ring fits..." Maggie's eyes were glittering so that Bond lost it. The laughter he'd fought tooth and nail to keep at bay exploded from his mouth like a lava spume, in spite of the fact that he'd just been insulted, albeit jokingly. In contrast to his barking laughs, Maggie was watching him in amused silence, that smile still tugging at her mouth. Clearly, she thought the whole thing was funny, but she kept her emotions on a leash, overt displays of happiness heeling at a sharp internal command.

The dog analogy suddenly conjured an image of M before Bond's eyes. The little bulldog that long adorned her desk had quite often been a favorite topic of discussion amongst Service employees, symbolic of its owner. The old cliché "the bark is worse than the bite" certainly applied to M in spades, although there definitely had been times when the bite was much worse. He'd heard plenty of Maggie's bark so far and had flirted with sampling the bite numerous times, yet the notion of hacking her off for pure sport no longer sounded like fun. Making M angry was never a jolly holiday; Bond could only imagine what Maggie's temper was like.

A bright flash, a blaze of heat that swept the crowd, and a chorus of _oohs, aahs, _and cheers from the audience derailed Bond's train of thought. The fire dancer, through some magic of his own, had just blown some of the flames into the air and was now taking a modest bow to tumultuous applause.

Amid sharing her acclaim for the man, Maggie swiveled in her seat to face Bond, a grin lighting her entire countenance. "Marvelous, wasn't it?" she asked, her hands still clapping together like mad.

"Yes, marvelous," Bond echoed, his mind not on the show, but his dialogue with Maggie. "Marvelous, indeed."

At that moment, Bond's mobile rang. He fished it out of his pocket and frowned at the number registering on the screen. An American number – one that seemed awfully familiar to him. Then he noticed the accompanying name, and a grin cracked his face. "If you'll excuse me, milady," he begged pardon. "I have to take this call."

Maggie watched him intently as he answered the phone. "Hey! Long time, no hear. Yes, me too. We're all busy these days, doing the jobs our governments never thank us for." A pause, then a bark of laughter from Bond. "Please, I'd hardly call knighthood thanks. Sir James Bond; it'd take all the fun out of life." Another chuckle. "True. So, what's the urgency? I was a little surprised to see it was you." In the silence that followed, the grin slid off Bond's face and his eyes widened in amazement. "You are? What are you doing here?" Pause. "How did you know?" Pause again. "Why him? Never mind. Where are you now?" Bond's expression changed from surprise to determination in two seconds. "We'll be there in an hour."

Maggie took a sip of her piña colada. "Where are we going to be in an hour, Bond?"

"The Big Island." He extended a hand to Maggie and she took it, allowing him to pull her up off her seat.

"The Big Island of Hawaii? Who was that you were speaking to?"

"An old friend. Tanner called him with news of our mission, and it turns out that he has a surprise for us relating to the case. He's chosen a safe area of the island to meet us at."

They were on their way across the car park now, the music of the luau playing in the distance. "How safe?"

One corner of Bond's mouth twitched upward. "Let's just say it's a hot spot."

Maggie frowned. "Doesn't that mean it's a popular place? Won't we be at risk of being overheard or seen?"

"It's hot, but not in that sense. And I wouldn't worry about being overheard or seen, unless a certain Hawaiian fire goddess comes out to play."

Maggie said nothing in reply, but merely shook her head at Bond's mysterious grin as they got into the Aston Martin and drove off.

* * *

An hour later, Bond and Maggie were walking along one of Hawaii's most beautiful – and most dangerous – beaches. It was beautiful because of the miles of black sand stretching along the coast, dangerous because it was at the foot of Hawaii's most active volcano – the source of the sand's onyx hue, the result of millennia of lava flows. As they'd flown overhead in the seaplane Bond had secured, a red glow could be seen emanating from the island below and heat waves soared into the air from the volcanoes' calderas.

"Well, Bond, you weren't joking when you said this was a hot spot," Maggie said, raising her eyes warily toward the cliffs surrounding the beach. "I should have known you were talking about the volcanoes."

Bond gave her a rather grim smile. "That isn't the only sense of the term. This beach is one of the most dangerous in the world, because of the volcanic activity and because it's a hot spot for sharks. Hammerheads and tiger sharks stalk these waters, and there have been 128 shark attacks here since 1828. Eight of them were fatal."

"As horrible as that is, who would be stupid enough to splash about in shark-infested waters in the first place?"

"The same people who are stupid enough to get within one foot of a boiling stream of lava and have the nerve to act surprised when they get their skin burned off. This volcano is just as temperamental as the waters, so it's no great surprise."

"Which one is this? I know Hawaii is comprised of a series of volcanoes."

"This is Kilauea," Bond said, waving a hand up toward the volcano's piping caldera, the glow of which could be seen from the beach. "In the Hawaiian language, its name means 'spewing' or 'spreading out,' and it's quite fitting, because of the three active volcanoes on the island, Kilauea has the greatest reputation for the most violent eruptions and lava flows. Its last major eruption was in 1983, and it's been vomiting lava on a daily basis ever since. Fortunately, its tubes carry the majority of the lava out to the edges of the island and it flows off certain areas of the cliffs into the ocean. The flows are so spontaneous and sporadic that hardly anyone can actually see it happening, but I understand that it's quite a sight to behold."

"What about the other ones?"

"I don't know too much about Hualalai at the opposite end of the island, but Mauna Loa is quite famous. It's like Kilauea in the respect that they both spout lava daily, but Mauna Loa is gentle compared to Kilauea. Mauna Loa's lava flows are very regular and quite non-violent, unlike the flows of this monster, which spew out into the ocean with very little warning and with great force." Bond shook his head. "It's remarkable how two sister volcanoes can be so different and yet so alike at the same time."

That brought a grin to Maggie's face. "Yeah. Just like Barbara and me."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Bond found himself fascinated by the analogy. Two sisters, Lady Barbara and Lady Maggie. Two volcanoes, Mauna Loa and Kilauea. One gentle, one wild; both hot and dangerous. M, the boss, the steadfast leader whose fire masked a gentle heart. Maggie, the double-0, spontaneous and deadly in the heat of battle, yet only now was Bond beginning to see and experience her true gentleness. Perhaps she had a touch of Mauna Loa in her after all, but only time would tell.

"Oh, Bond, look! Over there, look!"

Jerked awake by a cry from Maggie, Bond followed her pointing finger to the cliffs jutting out over the crashing waves along the shore and was rewarded with an awesome sight. A torrent of lava, glowing orange in the night and so scorching that Bond could feel the intense heat carried over on the breeze, was pouring off the cliff into the Pacific. The very antithesis of a waterfall, the viscous flow threw off tremendous sparks and sprayed in all directions as it tumbled over the edge; the cold ocean water steamed, roiled, and bubbled as it fought to cool the rushing lava. Bond could hardly believe their good fortune. They'd actually witnessed one of Kilauea's lava flows!

"That's the most extraordinary thing I've ever seen," Maggie breathed, awestruck by the sight.

"Pele must be in a temper tonight."

"Who?"

"It's Hawaiian mythology. The ancient Hawaiians believed that the islands were the result of the temper of the fire goddess Pele. It was her fire that forged the volcanoes and that kept the Hawaiians in awe and fear of her, for they knew that if they displeased her, she could consume them in flames with a flick of a finger."

"Lovely woman."

"Don't judge her too harshly. Legend has it that although Pele was temperamental and unpredictable, she had her people's best interests at heart. She pitted them against incredible odds and challenged them many times, all to strengthen them, build their characters, and make better people out of them. If there's a lesson to be learned from that myth, it's never to take a woman for granted. She might seem like she's burning you at first, but really, she's cleansing you by fire... making you into a better man because she loves you."

Noting the soft register Bond's voice had dropped to, Maggie said gently, "Well, you know what they say, Bond. 'The fire that melts the butter and sears the flesh also forges the steel.'"

Bond turned a half-grin on her. "What sentimental idiot told you that?"

"My sister did."

Bond whipped around to face Maggie, who bore a satisfied grin at his reaction. "She frequently used that phrase in our conversations about you."

Bond swallowed hard to wash down the lump that had suddenly settled in his throat. How like M that was. "Funny that I said _sentimental_," he said. "When I first met Mallory, it was in M's office. She'd cleared me for fieldwork and was about to brief me on a new assignment when Mallory interrupted. He said she was sentimental about me, and to her face, at that." He chuckled, but the laugh had a drop of sadness in its timbre. "The way she rose from her desk, I thought she was going to smack him across his stupid face, but she didn't. She knew how to exercise self-control better than anyone else I'd met, probably because she was our leader."

"Not merely a leader, Bond," Maggie said, her eyes warm. "A lady."

At that moment, Bond found himself speechless, unable to do anything but stare at Maggie in awe. The old stereotype of the English lady was that of a primped, polished, jolly-hockey-sticks chit with affected manners and more jewels on her hands than brains in her head, but the pillocks who held fast to that misconception had always been in for a shock when they met M. Blessed with the grace of Her Majesty and the iron resolve of Margaret Thatcher, M blew the stereotype out of the water and exemplified what Bond believed a real English lady was: dignified and strong, possessed of a keen mind, a tongue both tart and sweet, and a warrior's heart. M had been a lady in every sense of the word; Maggie was right... but then, it took one to know one.

_Click._

Bond spun on his heel as the sudden telltale click of a gun being cocked assaulted his ears; he yanked his Walther out of a hidden pocket in his shorts and aimed it into the darkness, noticing with pleasure that Maggie had followed suit, having withdrawn her own weapon from the pocket built into the lining of her skirt. "Show yourself!" he ordered.

"And here I thought the British were famous for their good manners."

Bond chuckled and clicked his gun's safety back on at the familiar American accent. "Of course we are. You know we always offer our enemies a cup of tea before we shoot them."

"Funny; we offer them a cigarette and a blindfold, but if we have to be PC about it, it's two Xanax and a shot of whiskey."

Bond's chuckle deepened as he stepped forward to greet his friend. "It's good to see you again, Felix."

Felix Leiter shook hands with Bond and clapped him hard on the back. "Good to see you too, my friend. And speaking of..." he nodded in Maggie's direction. "Are you going to introduce me to _your _friend?"

"Friend, partner, titular wife... don't ask." Bond gestured Maggie forward. "Felix, this is Lady Maggie Mawdsley, my new partner. Lady Maggie, this is Special Agent Felix Leiter of the CIA."

A cordial smile lit Leiter's fine brown face. "It's a pleasure, Lady Maggie."

"Mr. Leiter," Maggie acknowledged, shaking the hand he offered. "How do you and Bond know each other?"

Leiter's eyes crinkled in a grin. "I saved his butt twice."

"Literally. Felix and I met in Montenegro when I was working on the Casino Royale assignment. I thought he was just another hapless poker player, but as it turned out, he was a plant just like me – and we were both after the same man."

"Le Chiffre." When Bond and Leiter gave her strange looks, Maggie explained, "When the world's foremost financier of international terrorism makes a sour wager, loses a multimillion dollar poker game to a member of MI6, and receives a bullet through his skull for his troubles, it's not exactly back-page news."

"_I _almost lost to _him_, instead of the other way 'round. I got too cocky and made a bad bet, and I would've returned to England in pieces if Felix hadn't re-staked me in exchange for capturing Le Chiffre and handing him over to the Americans. And weeks later in Bolivia, he tipped me off about Dominic Greene and then covered me when Quantum's CIA moles tried to fit me for wings and a halo."

Maggie gazed at Leiter, impressed. "You did all that for Bond, even when he was still a virtual stranger?"

"Britain is our closest ally, Lady Maggie. Before I joined the CIA, I fought alongside several British officers in Desert Storm. Save for the men and women of our own military, I've never met finer fighters or friends – present company included," he said with a nod to Bond.

"Felix, before you gush on about my greatness, I believe you have a present for me?"

"That I do." Leiter reached into his jacket and withdrew a medium-sized cylindrical object, large enough for a grown man to grip in his hand, and gave it over to Bond. "Merry Christmas, James."

Bond examined the object, turning it over and over in his hands. It was silver with a black cap on one end and a red button near the top, with a switch just below. "Felix, if this is what I think it is, you've just made my New Year very happy indeed."

"What is it?" Maggie asked, leaning over Bond's arm to scrutinize the object for herself.

"A handheld emerald laser. Am I correct?" Bond asked, raising his eyes to meet Leiter's.

"One hundred percent. Emerald laser pointers have been selling like hotcakes in the States because they're the most powerful on the market – not only can they throw the flight directions of airplanes out of whack if they're mishandled, but they're the most useful laser pointers out there, and it's not just college professors using them. Some scientists believe that they could potentially be modified to function as laser weapons that could make guns look like kids' toys – or be fired from space."

"I understand the logic behind it, but don't you think those scientists have been watching too much _Star Trek_?" Maggie asked, sporting a skeptical expression. "The last I checked, neither MI6 nor the CIA were going to make the transition from firearms to phasers."

"Not yet, but if the terrorist you two are after gets hold of enough emeralds to build a massive laser, nobody on this planet's going to live long and prosper." Leiter returned his gaze to Bond. "James, pop the top off that thing, will you?"

Bond flicked the cap off with his thumb, revealing a round aperture similar to that of a torch. _Blasted thing looks like a lightsaber._ "Now what?"

"Crank up the voltage with that switch below the red button, all the way up. Then aim it away from us and press the red button."

Once Bond had powered up the laser, he scanned the area for something to aim it at. When he finally spotted a palm bush growing out of the pahoehoe flow nearby, he took aim and fired. A jet of neon-green light shot out of the cylinder and hit the bush dead on; not five seconds later, it more closely resembled Moses' burning bush than a plant of paradise. Minutes later, the plant had collapsed in smoldering remains.

Felix grimaced. "Take that power and multiply it by 10,000,000. That's what an emerald laser superweapon will be able to do to forests, to cities, and to every human being on Earth. We're talking World War III if this kind of power falls into the hands of the terrorists. James, Lady Maggie... it's not just our own countries you're fighting for here. It's the entire world."

Aquamarine met sapphire as Bond and Maggie locked eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, but with stakes like that, it was more likely that tomorrow would never die.


	11. Dressed To Kill

The last chapter was more of an adventure. This one brings out much more of the story's romantic element, with Bond delving into his own personal thoughts and probing his feelings for Maggie. They're getting ready for the big pre-auction party, and they're both dressed to kill. If you want to take a peek at Maggie's dress and jewelry, visit my profile. As always, thanks to everyone following the tale and leaving such wonderful feedback. Y'all are the greatest!

P.S. I've snuck in two references here: one to _As Time Goes By _and another to one of Maggie Smith's movies. 10,000 points to the Hogwarts House of your choice to everyone who guesses both correctly!

* * *

The day, as it turned out, flew by. The evening, however, was another story.

Leiter had taken the emerald laser with him after Bond and Maggie bade him farewell, promising to guard it with his life – and that he would also be in attendance at the pre-auction party, keeping one eye on them and the other on their mysterious jewel thief. With the promise of his friend's protection, Bond suggested to Maggie that they do something fun – to enjoy the last bit of holiday time they had before their mission officially began. So they'd taken a walk through the Waikiki Aquarium, which boasted a wealth of beautiful tropical fish and other marine life, flitting to and fro among the coral reef it was built upon. Inspired by the fish, Bond then decided to take Maggie to Electric Beach, a favorite haunt of dolphins, to have a swim with the friendly creatures.

But, as Bond knew well, it was too good to last forever. They had a mission to complete, so it was back to Honolulu to prepare for the party, and for any surprises that might occur during its duration. Of course, Bond had a surprise of his own waiting for his partner.

Maggie was just taking out the box containing her diamond jewelry when there was a knock at the door joining her suite with Bond's. "Yes?"

"Are you decent?"

Maggie looked down at herself. She had taken a shower earlier and was still wrapped in a silvery blue dressing gown, yet she hardly considered herself _en dishabille – _even if it was Bond knocking at the door. Nevertheless, it didn't stop her from pulling his leg just a little. "No, I'm naked, but feel free to come in if you have no scruples, Bond."

The knob turned and Bond entered, bearing a black garment bag on one arm and a cynical look on his face. "There's an invitation. And what if you'd actually been naked and I'd barged right in? You'd have had my guts for garters."

Maggie chuckled dryly. "And you would have been blinded for life, just like Peeping Tom."

"Well, thank God you have better sense than Lady Godiva."

"That isn't exactly what I meant."

"What..." Bond's voice trailed off as the implication sunk in, and the way Maggie pulled her gown more snugly around her only confirmed his suspicions. "First of all, I was only kidding about seeing you naked. It is nothing against you, trust me. Believe it or not, I have too much respect for you to pull a stunt like that."

"You respect me?" Bond had expected those words to be laced with sarcasm; on the contrary, they came out amazed.

"Yes, I do. You're M's sister, which is reason enough, but... I consider you a friend. A close friend." _And more._

"I'm very touched to hear you say that, if you can believe that I reciprocate."

Bond grinned. "See? I'm not totally unscrupulous."

Maggie's eyes twinkled. "Not totally." She nodded toward the bag draped over Bond's arm. "What's that?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Bond walked over to Maggie's bed and laid the bag on the duvet. "When I went shopping yesterday, a dinner jacket was not all I found."

Maggie cast a suspicious glance at the bag, followed by a sardonic look at Bond. "Bond, what's in there? Some backless, frontless Hollywood-gala outfit? I realize scandal is to your taste, but I have no intention of giving you a feast."

Bond laughed. "Relax, milady. I assure you, my intentions are honorable. Besides, scandal doesn't appeal to me these days."

"Really? Then what does?"

A sly smile curving his lips, Bond's eyes rested on the garment bag before moving up to fix pointedly on Maggie. "Slip that on and I'll tell you."

Shaking her head, Maggie strode to the bed and took the bag in hand. "Bond, I realize that we have an act to maintain, but why do you insist on flirting with me so?"

"I'm a man in love."

The grin on his face was enough to make Maggie mutter "Oh, Bond" and disappear into the bathroom to change – yet the glow in his eyes was enough to make her think. Was he jesting? Or was he really... Maggie was able to ignore the thought as she focused on her garment bag, yet unable to ignore the flush that swept over her, tickling her skin like the gentlest fingers.

* * *

Bond poured a fifth of Macallan into a crystal tumbler, but refrained from drinking it right away. The last thing he needed was to be laggered while assessing his appearance – double Bonds in his vision would definitely not be an asset.

Facing the mirror, Bond took stock of himself. His blond hair was groomed and his face smooth, thanks to the close shave he'd given himself. No dark circles lingered under his eyes to lend a violet shadow to their piercing blue, for which he gave silent thanks. As he adjusted his bow tie, his left arm nudged the concealed holster containing his Walther, a reminder of the danger at hand – literally and metaphorically.

His arms still raised, Bond noted with some amusement that he had another kind of danger at hand: the links holding the cuffs of his dinner jacket sleeves together. They'd been a very special Christmas gift from M, and one of the most creative things he'd ever seen. She had taken two shell casings to Cartier and had them plated in solid gold and inlaid with a ruby at each end; the finest gift Bond had ever received – and all the more valuable because of the note she'd included in the box with them, a note he still kept in his pocket like a talisman.

Aside from the cufflinks, Bond's only other ornament was his wedding band, which he now turned around on his left ring finger. At the age of 44, he had never been married, never had a truly stable relationship... never really wanted to be bound to one woman and one woman only, because in his heart, he'd always been bound to one woman and was too bloody blind to realize it until it was too late. After M's death, he thought he'd never find another woman like her, but that was before he met Maggie.

How ironic it was that he never wanted to marry and now, here he was enjoying his role as Maggie's husband. Heck, he was even enjoying her company now that they were actually friends, but Bond was sure that his feelings were beyond friendship at this point. He'd told himself that he couldn't possibly be in love after only a few short days, and had even considered the possibility that the only reason he was so besotted with her was because she was so like M.

It was the latter that had kept him awake thinking as he lay in bed the previous night. Was he trying to replace M in getting closer to Maggie, something he'd sworn never to do? _You fell for her anyway, _the demon on his shoulder chided, _And all because she's her sister in a different package. This is going to be nothing but trouble, and let's face it, mate, you're attracted to trouble._

_Yeah, but I love trouble, _Bond countered, shutting the little devil up. There was some truth to it, though, as his track record spoke for itself. That kind of trouble he didn't seek out; it always seemed to find him. No, his kind of trouble wasn't a woman who would ultimately betray him, it was a woman who could challenge him – one way in which M and Maggie were very much alike. The take-no-crap attitude, the sharp wit, and intense loyalty to all she held dear were qualities that Maggie shared with M, yet Bond could see many ways in which she was radically different.

Obviously, the biggest difference was her physical appearance – with her flaming hair, wide eyes, and trim figure, she was as different from M as fire was from ice. Her tongue was sharper. She was more spontaneous and quicker on her feet, no doubt owing to her years as a double-0. In the same vein, it also seemed that she was stronger than M in some ways – for instance, M had always given orders for someone to be killed; Maggie had actually killed others, with a gun, with a tire iron, or – Bond made an educated guess – with her bare hands. Not that M wasn't strong; she was a woman in a man's position, in charge of the safety of Britain and her people; she had to be strong, so much that several of the younger employees called her "Iron Drawers" in private. M always put her iron armor on when she had to...

But Maggie, it seemed, had armor built into her very skin. She was powerful in combat and an excellent shot, as Bond knew from experience. She knew that there was a task at hand and that it needed to be completed, no matter the cost. She was hardheaded, hot-blooded, and commanding, yet protective of her heart and the very core of her being, trusting no one...

Just like him.

Bond suddenly felt a strong urge to reach for his glass of scotch, and he drained it in one gulp. No wonder they hadn't gotten on at all when they first met; their professional personas were too much alike. He'd thought he hated Maggie the agent... but much to his surprise, he liked, maybe even loved, Maggie the woman. The agent was a piece of work just like him, but the woman was warm, loyal, funny, lovely...

A knock suddenly sounded on the opposite side of the door, snapping Bond back to reality. "Yes?"

"Are you decent?"

Bond grinned at the throwback. "I'm dressed to kill, my lady."

"That's good, because I am too."

Bond turned as the door opened, ready to greet Maggie, but the greeting was stillborn on his lips. Even his breath seemed to be stolen from him the moment his eyes landed on her.

"Well, Bond?" Maggie turned around once and held her arms out at her sides. "Does your choice appeal to you?"

His choice was an evening dress, one that had not been easy to find. In the first two shops he'd visited, every single frock was either backless, gaudy in design or color, or low-cut enough to scandalize even the rich and famous of Los Angeles, more suited for Lady Gaga than for Lady Maggie. In shop number three, however, he struck gold – although Maggie looked more like onyx and diamond in it now. The gown was black as midnight with long sleeves and a long, flowing skirt; a glitter trail began at the waist and curved down the front until it joined the sweep of the skirt. The neckline was modestly plunging, revealing little except her collarbone and some of her shoulders and allowing her diamond necklace to drape lovingly against her skin. The teardrop earrings dangled from her earlobes and the bracelets were adorning her wrists, and, of course, her wedding and engagement rings still flashed from her left hand. Her red hair was styled into a graceful sidesweep that dipped over her right eye, once again bringing out their sapphire blue. Dressed to kill, indeed – Bond felt his heart skip a beat or two and his breath catch in his throat as he drank her in.

"Bond?" Maggie looked at him expectantly. "What do you think?"

Bond struggled to find his voice. "You look radiant," he managed, amazed that his words came out clearly. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Liar," Maggie said in spite of the blush creeping into her cheeks.

"It's no lie. You look lovely."

"If you say so, then I'll take it." Maggie looked down at herself. "I'll give you one thing, Bond: you have good taste in frocks."

"Were you terrified to find out what was in the bag?"

"Honestly, yes. I thought I was going to pull out some skintight outfit that left very little to the imagination, but I was pleasantly surprised to unwrap this."

"As you said earlier, I'm not totally unscrupulous."

"No, you did well, and I thank you for thinking of me – and for knowing that I'm not some two-bit tart."

The corners of Bond's eyes crinkled. "Definitely not. You're worth much more than two bits."

Maggie seized a nearby pillow and hurled it in Bond's direction, laughing "Oh, bog off, Bond!"

Dodging the incoming projectile, Bond readjusted his jacket and moved closer to where Maggie stood. "I suppose I should be grateful that wasn't a bullet. You do have your gun with you, I presume?"

"Don't pull my leg, 007." Maggie hiked up her skirt at one side to reveal the Walther strapped to her thigh.

"No danger of that, as long as you don't rub me the wrong way," Bond quipped in return, opening his jacket to display his own Walther, nestled under his arm.

"No worries. I wouldn't want to get shot through the heart."

"What if it were an arrow and not a bullet? Would you reconsider?"

"That depends on who the archer is."

"If he has a steady hand..."

"A strong arm..."

"True intentions..."

"A warrior's heart..."

Bond hadn't noticed that they were moving toward each other with each sentence until he saw how closely he and Maggie were standing... almost close enough to kiss. "We really ought to be going, you know."

"I agree," Maggie concurred, her voice steady and her eyes locked with Bond's, blue into blue.

Bond's lips curved upward. "Kiss me for luck, Mrs. Bond?"

Maggie's eyes widened. "You want to kiss me? Why?"

"Because you need it and so do I. For luck?" _For me?_

Maggie hesitated before answering. "For luck."

It was all Bond needed. He lowered his head and covered Maggie's mouth with his, pleasure radiating through him at the soft sensation of her lips against his. _Maggie... _He twined his arms around her, melding her to him as he deepened the kiss – and her arms came around him, and she was kissing him back, fully, breathlessly...

Too soon, the kiss broke and Maggie pulled back, one hand flying up to touch her lips. "My goodness," she breathed, "That's the first time I've been kissed in eleven years."

Bond took note of the time period, but didn't ask questions. "And?"

Maggie smiled. "You're an amazing kisser, I'll give you that."

Bond grinned. "You're not half bad yourself," he returned, loving the wave of pink that swept her face. He strode to the main door and opened it, gesturing to the outlying corridor. "Shall we, Maggie?"

Maggie froze in the middle of collecting her evening bag. "You called me Maggie."

"That is your name, isn't it?"

"That's not my point. Up 'til now, you've called me 'milady' or 'Lady Maggie,' but never my Christian name alone."

Bond blinked, taken aback. "I won't if you don't want..."

"No, no, please do," Maggie interrupted, sweeping over to Bond and touching his arm. "I'd love it if you'd drop the 'Lady' entirely. Just call me Maggie."

Smiling once more, Bond made the gesture again and repeated, "Shall we, Maggie?"

"We shall... James."

His own eyes popping now, Bond caught Maggie's grin and the glitter in her eye before following her out the door and into the night.


	12. A Price Above Rubies

Last time, Bond and Maggie were on their way to the party - after sharing their first kiss. Now, they're at the party in full splendor, where they're about to meet a rather unpleasant character...

As always, thanks to my readers, especially RebaForever15 and liz1967, for your constant support. Y'all are awesome! And for those of you who caught the references to "As Time Goes By" and "The Prime Of Miss Jean Brodie," 10,000 points to whichever Hogwarts house you're proud to be in! For this week's installment: an extra 5,000 to those of you who can guess which actress I had in mind for the newest character in this chapter. Hint: think Britain's most popular drama.

* * *

"I feel as though I'm on the red carpet at the Academy Awards."

"You certainly look Oscar-worthy tonight."

"It's better than looking like the award itself, Golden Boy."

"Do you have something against blonds?"

"Well, James, I've only ever met one blond with a brain, and that was a golden retriever."

"Ouch. Not all blonds are stupid, any more than all gingers are witches."

Maggie shot Bond an incredulous look, despite the humor twinkling in her eyes. "That is horrible! What put that awful idea in your head?"

Bond laughed. "It's an old wives' tale. Years ago, people thought that women with red hair were witches, for some moronic reason." He turned a smile on his partner. "Rest assured, you have lovely hair – and you're not a witch."

A mischievous grin tugged at Maggie's mouth. "Not all the time."

Bond nudged Maggie in the ribs as they entered the Honolulu Convention Center, which was milling with people dressed to the nines – all for the party that evening. Men in dinner jackets and black ties escorted women in gowns of black, white, and all colors of the spectrum into the building, and everywhere one looked, jewels flashed and sparkled from the women's throats, ears, and hands. All gorgeous and all expensive, yet nowhere near as priceless as the gems up for auction, Bond wagered. But what would truly be invaluable were the identities of any undercover terrorists or thieves here. "Keep an eye on your phone," he murmured to Maggie.

"Why?"

"That necklace of yours is constantly relaying footage of this party back to Q. Once he can identify anyone who just might be on Interpol's Most Wanted list, he'll send the pictures back to your phone and mine. He'll also be keeping in touch. Is your earwig in?"

"I put it in just before we left."

"Good. Just remember –"

"Don't touch my ear. James, if I had a shilling for every time I told an agent that, I'd be the wealthiest woman in the UK by now."

Bond grinned, impressed. "Finally, I've got a partner with a brain."

"And here I thought you liked me for my dazzling wit."

A chuckle rippled through Bond's body. Hadn't he said the same thing a mere few days ago?

"What?" Maggie turned to him, laughter lines blooming from her eyes.

"Nothing, it's just… I said that myself not too long ago."

"Both of us double-0's, both saying the same things and standing for the same principles. Before you know it, we'll be –"

"Finishing each other's sentences?"

Maggie chortled. "Goodness. You and I really are soulmates, aren't we?"

"Soulmates." Bond felt his heart do a happy little dance at the word, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. "I like the sound of that."

"You do?"

Hearing the chuckle in her voice, Bond decided to act on a desire he'd kept dormant for some time. He ran the back of his finger along the contour of her cheek in a soft caress, causing her to look back up at him with a question in her big blue eyes. Blimey, it was impossible to look in those sapphire orbs and not be captivated. "I do," he said meaningfully. His finger lingered on her cheekbone and her lips curved upward… and he fought the delicious urge to sweep his hand down, smooth his thumb across her lower lip before capturing it between both of his…

"Why are you looking at me like that, James?"

Bond's own lips quirked. "I can't get enough of your cheek," he said slyly, tracing her cheekbone yet again.

"Really?" The sparkle in Maggie's eyes told him that she had caught the blatant pun in that statement and was ready to challenge it. "Half an hour ago, I would have thought it was my mouth you couldn't get enough of."

"What can I say? I like taking a little lip now and then."

The sparkle in her eyes danced. "You like my lip, do you?"

Bond was positive his own eyes were glittering too. "I love it." _And I love you; I'm sure of it now. _He dropped a gentle kiss on Maggie's forehead – just in time to be rudely interrupted.

"My, my, isn't this cozy."

The intruding voice was female, silky smooth and unmistakably London – the posh end, no doubt. One look up at her confirmed Bond's assumption – no woman swathed in Armani would come from any place in the good old city other than Chelsea. She was Audrey Hepburn gorgeous, with glossy mahogany hair woven into a classic French twist and eyes the color of warm chocolate, which were alight with amusement as they regarded Bond and Maggie. Flawless ivory skin was draped in a Grecian gown of ice-blue silk and rubies dripped from her earlobes, throat, and wrists – perfectly matching her lips.

Bond looked her up and down, but for once, he was not interested – not now that Maggie was by his side and he was sure of his feelings. The only reason he was looking her over was that something about her seemed oddly familiar – and not a good familiar, either. As a matter of fact, he felt ice glaze the inside of his stomach, and the last time he'd felt that was back at MI6 when Mallory mentioned… Steeling himself, Bond tried his best to ignore the Arctic feeling in his gut, although one glance at Maggie told him that her gut had the same feeling – and the frost was chilling her eyes, turning them to ice chips as she stared the newcomer down. _I thought only M possessed that icy glare, but now I realize it must be a Mawdsley thing._

"Yes, but you know what they say about three being a crowd," Maggie retorted coolly, yet smoothly, keeping a civil tone.

The woman smiled, the frost in Maggie's voice not going unnoticed by her. "Believe me, I have no intention of crowding you. I just happened to spot the two of you from across the room and I thought, 'How sweet.' I admire people who aren't afraid of public displays of affection; it seems to shatter an unspoken rule."

Bond sensed the challenge in those words. "Shattering the rules is our business, Miss…"

"Tuesday," the woman replied, extending a hand to Bond as though she expected him to kiss it. "Ruby Tuesday."

Bond could have sworn he saw Maggie's frozen smile twitch for the briefest of seconds. Of course, he could see why – the woman was named after a Rolling Stones ballad. Under any other circumstances, he might have cracked a grin himself, but this wasn't his first encounter with an unusual name. Once, he'd been partnered with a fellow agent named Strawberry Fields, murdered by Dominic Greene on the Quantum mission. And of course, there was Vesper, enough said. It was his belief that women with unusual or exotic names were nothing but trouble, a self-established fact that made him yearn for a woman with a normal name.

As enigmatic as M had been, her name was perfectly normal. Barbara Judith Mawdsley – an ordinary name for an extraordinary woman. Now, her sister was by his side, and certainly no less extraordinary. Her Christian name was beautiful, old-fashioned rather than exotic, but Bond had yet to learn her middle name. And good things came to those who waited, after all.

After eyeing the woman's hand for a moment, Bond clasped it politely, but refrained from pressing it to his lips. "Who could hang a name on you?" he asked; Maggie sent him a glare that said _You are beyond stupid for quoting that song to her. _But there was method to his madness. Something about her name had caught his ear.

She laughed, a bell of a sound. "No one can hang a name on me for very long."

_Aha, there's Clue Number One. She's being cryptic, but that means multiple aliases, I know it. _"I take it you're a Jill-of-all-trades, Miss Tuesday?"

"Oh please, call me Ruby," she said, waving a hand that flashed with a great sparkler of a ruby-and-diamond ring. "And you are?"

"James Bond."

"Enchanted." Ruby's eyes swept his form. "If you're not the most, to say the least."

"The least would be much appreciated," Maggie spoke up, the ice beginning to show now.

As if she hadn't seen her before, Ruby now turned to Maggie as though she were some new, interesting creature that just turned up. "Forgive me," she said, though Bond could detect the insincerity behind the solicitous front. "I don't believe we've met. Who are you?"

Bond didn't have to be a mind reader to guess at what was running through Maggie's head – nothing polite, he was sure. Quickly intervening before a catfight broke out, he made the introductions. "This is Maggie, my wife."

Ruby's eyes flew wide and a smile spread across her face, putting Bond in mind of a child exulting over her gifts on Christmas Day. "Your wife? How delicious!" She then turned her full attention to Maggie. "Tell me, what's it like being married to such a handsome _young _man?"

Bond saw Maggie grit her teeth. The emphasis Ruby had placed on the word _young _hadn't been missed by him either. "I'm just happy that I have a wonderful _man _to share my life with," she returned, careful to emphasize the word _man –_ no _young _attached, for which Bond cheered a silent _atta girl._

Ruby chuckled loftily. "I'm sure." She then returned her gaze to Bond. "And you, Mr. Bond. How does married life treat you? In your position, it must be quite easy to read between the lines, so to speak."

Before he spoke, Bond gave thanks that he wasn't on the receiving end of the glare Maggie was aiming at Ruby. "Married life has dealt me a great hand. And I don't call it reading between the lines. I call it drinking a fine wine," he replied, squeezing his partner's hand when she flashed him a grateful smile.

Ruby's smile was oily. "Just be careful. Dangerous things can happen when a man is intoxicated with a wilted bouquet." A sudden rumble of the crowd made her turn around, just in time for her to miss Bond staying Maggie's hand as she whipped it forward. Luckily, she appeared to notice nothing when she faced them again. "Looks like the party's about to begin." She bestowed a fawning smile upon Bond. "Will I have the pleasure of dancing with you, Mr. Bond? A diamond in the rough is well worth a lady's time."

She certainly had a silver tongue, but Bond was not impressed. Shameless flirts were nothing new to him, but witnessing this woman making catty remarks to Maggie and then flirting with him like she wasn't even there incensed him. But English virtues being what they were, he knew he had to keep a civil tongue in his head, so he settled for a polite, yet snide reply.

"I'm very flattered, but I'm afraid I'll have to deny you that pleasure. No doubt you thought that you would be worth my time, but I think a pearl is worth much more than a ruby."

Ruby's smile was still frozen on her face, but her dark eyes threw off sparks at Bond's rejection. He knew that look all too well – it was the one that said _you'll be sorry. _"We'll see," she returned smoothly, the threat in those words thinly veiled. And with a final icy smile, she turned and flounced off to the ballroom, where the party crowd was gathering.

Shaking his head, Bond turned to Maggie, who was glaring absolute daggers at Ruby's departing back, her blue eyes blazing. "If she's a ruby, she's a very rough cut."

"To hear her talk, you'd think she was the bloody Timur Ruby." Maggie swiped her hair out of her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "James, I know it's not very Christian of me, but I wanted to smack the red right out of her lips."

"And send a few rubies flying in the process, with the strength you have."

"I'd love to send _her _flying somewhere. Her and her spiky remarks. Just because she's got the skin of Snow White…"

"Maggie, calm down before you poison that apple. You got her face on film, and if Q makes a positive identification, I think we might have found our jewel thief and terrorist."

Maggie's frown morphed from angry to puzzled. "How do you know?"

"Certain things. When she said no one could hang a name on her for too long, it sounded like a veiled hint at the use of aliases. And the way she waltzed right up to us and started flirting with me."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "James, if you think every woman who flirts with you is either a thief or a terrorist, our relationship is headed for major jeopardy."

"Just because I'm aware doesn't mean I'm paranoid. I'm saying that a woman like that is like a rattlesnake. She coils herself around you like she wants to get cozy, rattles a warning, and then she strikes. That little performance was her rattle."

"So you think that girl is Silva's protégé?"

"Yes. And if my gut feeling is correct, she knows that I killed her mentor and wants revenge."

"And your refusing her was to avoid an assassination tango."

"Something like that. I also didn't want to get that close to her. It's not worth it."

"Yes, I heard you say that a pearl was worth more than a ruby or something of the kind."

"Yes, and so you are."

Maggie did a double take, unsure of what she had just heard. "What do you mean?"

"You're worth more than she is." When she still looked confused, Bond said, "Maggie, your name means 'pearl.'"

Maggie closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were shining. "You cheeky devil," she said softly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were..."

Bond felt a smile flirt with his lips. "You'd think I was what?"

Maggie shook her head. "Never mind." She glanced to the ballroom and back. "Shall we?"

By way of an answer, Bond offered her the crook of his arm and smiled down at her when she slipped her own arm through. She'd come close to guessing, but his secret was still safe... for now.


	13. Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?

I apologize for the delay, but I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Last time, Bond and Maggie dealt with a woman who just may be their terrorist, but now, the mood shifts into a more romantic gear as the ball begins. My deepest gratitude goes out, as always, to my readers, who keep this love story burning bright, and to the great Bryan Adams, whose stunning, romantic song "Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?" was my source of inspiration for this chapter.

Side note: I envisioned Michelle Dockery (_Downton Abbey_'s Lady Mary) as Ruby Tuesday when I wrote the previous chapter. I got a guess for Helena Bonham Carter, which was a great guess, but it was Michelle's coolness and elegance that were my inspiration for Ruby's evil character.

* * *

Drums rolled, steel guitars soared, and hands clapped as every couple on the dance floor pulled shapes to the rollicking "Rock A Hula Baby," the opening dance of the ball. Of course, at Bond had never considered himself to be any great shakes at dancing, but tonight, he was doing his best impression of Fred Astaire – and trying to keep up with Maggie, who was a crackerjack dancer despite her earlier claims to the contrary.

"You dance beautifully for someone with two left feet," he said with a sly grin, just before he whirled Maggie out and back into his arms.

"And how would you know what my feet look like?"

"I've been swimming with you, remember? Not only have I seen your feet, I've seen your beautiful legs."

"James, good God!" Maggie said, magenta streaking across her face. "My legs are nothing to look at."

"Bite your tongue. Betty Grable should have been so lucky."

"Is flirting your middle name?"

"No, it's Andrew, but good guess."

The song slowed to a teasing, soulful pace, and Bond tangoed Maggie around the floor; she laughed aloud when he dipped her to the final flourish of the steel guitars. The couples burst into wild applause for the band, as did Maggie and Bond. "What a rush!" Maggie said breathlessly, adjusting her necklace after it had flown about during the two-minute hop. "I haven't had this much excitement since my days in the Service."

"You and I are going to have to swap stories sometime. I have the feeling we've both got some tales to tell." Bond straightened his jacket and cuffs, all while watching Maggie do the same, her ginger fringe falling over her right eye. "Here," he said, reaching out to smooth her hair away. As soon as he did, though, he couldn't resist threading the fiery locks through his fingers – glossy in the light and as soft and lovely as he had imagined. He wished that he could sink his hands into her thick hair and revel in its softness and sweet smell while his face was buried in her neck...

"You're blushing, James."

The sound of her voice brought Bond out of his fantasy and back to reality, where Maggie was smiling rather impishly at him. "Am I? Probably I'm just hot from dancing, is all."

"Yeah, hot under the collar."

"Maggie..."

"Don't _Maggie _me. I know that look."

"What look?"

"I believe Frank Sinatra called it bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, but I call it falling in love."

Bond immediately felt the nape of his neck go red and the heat of mortification slithered down his spine and into his legs. She'd finally caught on to him, but then again, she wasn't stupid by a long shot. What was he supposed to do now? Deny everything? Confess his secret now that his cover was blown? "I... you can't..." Dear God, he really did have it bad for this woman if she could make him as tongue-tied as a schoolboy.

Lips curving, Maggie pressed a finger to Bond's own lips to halt his stammering. "James, I'm only kidding. I just wanted to make you blush."

_Mission accomplished, _Bond thought, the gelatinous feeling evaporating from his stomach and legs. As sweet as the relief was, though, part of him couldn't help feeling disappointed, empty, even. Like things would have actually worked out if he'd confessed his love, but then again, did he honestly expect her to run into his arms and shout "I love you, too"? Contrary to popular belief, that was not what he expected of every woman he came into contact with – certainly he had never expected it of M, no matter how deeply he had carried those feelings for her. He was in no position to assume that she even liked him in that sense, and after all, what had he said to Mallory that fateful day in his office? _You know what happens when you assume, don't you?_

He knew. Dear God in heaven, did he know. He'd assumed that his parents would always be in his life. Wrong. He'd assumed that Vesper Lynd was his true love. Wrong again. And he'd assumed that M would be safe and well after he'd killed Raoul Silva. So wrong that the ache still seared his soul. So what _was _the right thing to say in this little scenario?

"Blimey, was I wrong," he said, praying that she hadn't seen him sweat too much. "I thought you were being serious."

"Well, I was, in a sense. I had to get you back for that comment about my legs."

"Are you going to torment me every time I pay you a compliment?"

"No. Only on special occasions."

"Such as?"

"Well, Christmas is next week, isn't it?"

Bond snickered. "Evil woman."

Maggie grinned. "Took you until now to figure that out?"

Bond chuckled and Maggie chimed in, but both of them straightened to attention when the host announced the next dance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, now that you've rocked that hula, let's slow things down with a special dance for all the couples here tonight. And _bruddahs_, ask yourself this question: have you ever really loved a woman?"

There was a question for the ages. Bond found himself pondering it as he offered Maggie his hand and said, a smile on his face and in his eyes, "May I have the honor of this dance, Mrs. Bond?"

Eyes twinkling, Maggie laid her hand in his. "Mr. Bond, it would be my pleasure. Besides, somebody's got to keep Lucrezia Borgia away from you."

Bond was on the point of asking Maggie who she was referring to when she nodded at a spot behind him. He craned his head around and took notice of Ruby Tuesday standing nearby as rigid as a marble pillar, casting the evil eye upon him and his partner. However, she transformed into the gracious guest, all smiles and solicitousness, when approached for a dance – by Felix Leiter, Bond noted with pleasure. As they passed, Leiter gave Bond a sideways wink, proving that he knew who his dancing partner was. Not that Bond was surprised – his friend had most likely been listening in on the conversation when Ruby interrupted him and Maggie earlier. "You've got to love American intervention in matters of terrorism."

Just then, the first chords of a Spanish guitar thrummed through the room. Bond knew in an instant what the song was – a Bryan Adams classic he'd loved in his youth, yet never taken the time to really _listen _to. "Let's dance," he whispered, taking Maggie's right hand in his left and placing his hand on her waist. As his heart thumped in response, the question presented itself again: _Have you ever really loved a woman? _He didn't know what to think. All he could think about was the intimacy of the Argentine tango they had begun – her soft curves molded to his hard muscle in a hold that felt more like an embrace... the embrace of a husband and wife; the embrace of a deep love.

_Have you ever really loved a woman?_

"Have you ever been in love, James?"

The question caught Bond off-guard. It was one thing to hear the question in one's mind, but quite another to hear the woman you loved ask it to your face. "What made you ask that? Does my glowing reputation precede me that much?"

Maggie's smile slipped. "It's not that, trust me. You're how old, 45?"

"44, just last month."

"Hmm, I wasn't far off. Anyway, you're 44, and judging by the way you flirt, and your original attitude toward our... arranged marriage, let's call it, you've never been married. But something about you tells me that you've been in love; you just don't like to talk about it."

Bond's face took on a cynical expression, as it always did when he was trying to mask the pain of his past. "Dear God, woman, can you read minds as well as kill with a glance?"

"I'm old, but I'm not stupid or blind, James. I know the look and manner of one who has loved and lost... because I'm one of them myself."

Astonished, Bond spun his partner around before pulling her back to meet his eyes. "What happened?"

Maggie's arm tightened around his back. "I lost my husband eleven years ago. We were married 30 years."

"So that's what you meant when you said you hadn't been kissed in eleven years."

"Yes. I've never kissed anyone since, until you."

Bond smiled. "In that case, I'm honored." A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. "I've been in love, truly, madly, deeply in love, only twice in my life. The first time was four years ago, during the Casino Royale mission. I fell in love with a woman named Vesper Lynd, who was my partner on the assignment. But she betrayed me when she took the money I'd won in the poker game and gave it to the Quantum organization. She didn't love me; she used me to achieve the ends to her means."

Maggie's eyes widened. "The woman who betrayed you and broke your heart in Venice." When Bond nodded tightly, she asked, "And the other time?"

"A woman I saw every day, whom I had known for quite some time. She got closer to me than anybody else ever did, but I never could bring myself to tell her that I loved her. Now it's too late. I'll never get that chance."

"She died?" When Bond nodded, Maggie rubbed his back in comfort. "I'm so sorry, James."

"So am I."

Maggie looked back up at him – almost hopefully, Bond thought, or was that just his imagination playing tricks on him? "Do you think you'll ever love again?"

Bond felt a smile crease his face, the question lifting him out of the bog. "I guarantee it." He whirled her again and dipped her down. "We've got a tango to do."

* * *

With each whirl, step, and flourish of the tango, Maggie felt her heart pounding away inside of her chest, yet she strongly suspected that it wasn't purely because of the vigor required by the dance. Bond was smiling down at her with his stunning eyes sparkling, and she couldn't help feeling butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach every time he pulled her back in for an embrace hold. It felt wonderful and scary at the same time. She hadn't felt like this for any man in years, not since her husband had died, but to feel it for James Bond... that was what scared her.

_What am I doing with him? Look at him! He could have any young woman he wants; he could have even had that spiky little chit who interrupted us. I must admit, I was touched when he defended me in the way he did, but how do I know it wasn't just part of the act? He couldn't possibly feel for me, not in that way..._

But Maggie knew she was lying to herself. She had heard nothing but sincerity in Bond's voice when he defended her honor, and the way he'd been looking at her lately... if he was acting, he deserved an Oscar for his performance, but Maggie was not a fool. She had been a double-0 for 33 years and knew how to recognize the difference between a slick performance and real, honest-to-goodness love. The evening's earlier kiss surfaced to mind at this thought – deep and delicious, searching, _loving. _Bond had kissed her in the way that every woman wanted to be kissed, the way that let her know that she was cherished and beautiful.

What was more amazing, she _felt _beautiful when she was with him. Maggie had never considered herself a beauty at all and scoffed whenever Bond told her so, but the woman in her honestly felt lovely in his presence, especially now, when they were dancing together. Every position had a meaning, and Bond's message was coming through loud and clear.

Cheek to cheek. _I want to be close to you._

Embrace, his hand caressing the small of her back. _Sweetheart._

Embrace again, his hand on her shoulder. _You are mine, my darling._

Forehead to forehead. _Kiss me, my love._

And this was the same man she'd hated upon their meeting? If her feelings had changed that much, God really did have a sense of humor. Indeed, as Bond dipped her deeply on the very last note of the song, she found herself wanting to kiss him, warmth seeping into her stomach. But he pulled her upright and kissed her cheek, apparently not wanting to cause a sensation among the crowd. His eyes, however, were saying something else altogether. "Maggie..."

"Yes, James?"

"I..." All of a sudden, the tenderness vanished from his face and his eyes darted to one side of the room. Maggie felt her heart plummet; clearly something was wrong. "James?" she whispered, so no one could hear and pick up on the anxiety in her voice. "What's wrong?"

He took her hand and escorted her out of the room, all elegance until they got into the corridor, then he dragged her along its length at a run. "Felix just contacted me. The rattlesnake has struck."


	14. Devil In A Blue Dress

Brace yourselves for some tense moments in this chapter, as well as a monster revelation. Last time, Bond spoke in code: "The rattlesnake has struck." What did he mean? Find out now!

Thanks as always to my wonderful readers - RebaForever15, Liz1967, Prosper-the-XVIII, Miss Spesh, FlashFiction, and any others I may have forgotten to mention - for keeping this love story alive - y'all are the greatest!

* * *

"What are you talking about, 'the rattlesnake has struck?'" Maggie asked as she and Bond bolted down the corridor.

"Our suspicions about Miss Tuesday were correct. She slipped Felix a tricky mickey."

Immediately, Maggie froze and released Bond's hand, causing him to screech to a halt and spin on his heels to face her; a look of mixed curiosity and impatience was engraved into his features. He knew that scared, preoccupied expression – she was no longer there, but lost in a memory, and not a good one, from the look of it. If the words _tricky mickey _had been the trigger, it wasn't hard to guess at what was replaying in her mind.

She had been poisoned, too.

"Maggie?"

Hearing her name brought her back. With a shake of her head, she focused on Bond and asked, "What did she slip him? Does he know?"

"He says he's sweating, his vision is clouding, his breathing is shallow and quick, and his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest."

"Digitalis." Maggie smiled grimly. "Class of 2002."

"Class of 2008; welcome to the club." Bond mentally cursed himself. "Of all the times not to have a combi-pen in my pocket..."

Maggie fished in the sleeve of her dress. "You don't, but I do." With a half-grin, she pulled out a blue combi-pen.

Bond nodded appreciatively. "I should've known you'd have something up your sleeve."

"After that poisoning cost me my license, I swore that if it ever happened again, it wouldn't cost me my life." When Bond raised his eyebrows in inquiry, Maggie said curtly, "Don't ask. Let's find Felix before it's too late."

"He mentioned the Pa Kamali'i courtyard on the level below. Come on, the grand staircase is this way."

They ran down the stairs and burst onto the third level, racing along the Ala Halawai Concourse and down another corridor until they finally reached the courtyard and stopped, listening for any sign of life. A noise reached Bond's ears and he held up a hand, listening once more for confirmation. There it was again – a low, agonizing moan. "He's in there," he said, grabbing Maggie's hand and towing her along again, this time into the heart of the courtyard. When they reached the room's core, Bond tore his hand out of Maggie's grasp and pounded up to the reflecting pool ahead. Next to the water lay Felix Leiter, sweat dripping from every pore and his chest heaving with rapid breaths.

His own skin beginning to trickle with perspiration, Bond knelt beside Leiter and carefully eased him upright into a sitting position. "Felix?"

Leiter groaned and peered at Bond through eyes squeezed tight against pain. "James..."

"Easy, mate," Bond said, gripping his friend's shoulders to steady him. "We're here, and we're not going to let you die."

"We?"

"Yeah." Bond nodded at Maggie with a grin, striving to keep the mood jocular for Leiter's sake. "My wife and me."

Maggie knelt on Leiter's other side, ensuring that he received a clear view of the combi-pen. "Felix, I'm going to inject this into your neck. It'll counteract the digitalis before it stops your heart."

Leiter managed a weak smile. "You're a real lady, Maggie. James... he's lucky to have you."

Bond could have sworn he saw Maggie flush before she spoke again. "James, there was a defibrillator out in the corridor. Go get it and bring it back here fast."

While Bond ran to get the machine, Maggie prepped the combi-pen and yanked Leiter's shirt open to make room for the defibrillator leads. She winced at the sight of his skin pulsing, evidence of his heart's deadly tarantella.

"Is this what it was like for you?"

His question took her aback. "How did you know?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You've got the look of one who's survived a traumatic experience," Leiter breathed.

"Yeah, well..." Maggie sighed, taking the handkerchief from Leiter's front jacket pocket, swirling it in the pool, and mopping his sweltering face and neck with the cool cloth. "I've had more than my fair share of trauma, believe me."

Leiter chuckled, but pain spasmed across his face with every heave of his chest. "Sounds like you and James are a match made in heaven."

Maggie exhaled a sound halfway between a chuckle and a scoff. "The king and queen of broken hearts, some match."

Just then, Bond reappeared on the scene. "I'd like to think I'm the king of wishful thinking." He crouched down and began charging the machine, throwing Leiter a grin. "You look like crap."

A snicker from Leiter halted the filthy look Maggie was aiming at Bond. "Yeah, and you looked like Superman four years back when this was you."

"Everybody's got their kryptonite." Bond attached the leads to Leiter's chest and held the machine in his hands, finger on the button. "Maggie, inject that stuff into his neck now."

Acting quickly, Maggie jabbed the pen into the left side of Leiter's neck, careful to avoid his jugular vein. She then grabbed his hand and said "Now, James."

Bond's finger descended upon the button, there came a loud beep and then a huge _thump _as Leiter's body jerked with the jolt of electricity surging through his veins. The CIA agent groaned and sucked in a great gulp of air, blinking furiously. He looked weary, but otherwise no worse for the wear – a miracle, considering his brush with death. "Oh, jeez..." he mumbled as he struggled to sit up.

Bond was there to steady his friend's back. "Felix? How do you feel?"

Leiter rubbed his eyes. "Like I just won Olympic gold for the 100-meter dash. I just drank a digitalis cocktail, you idiot; how do you think I feel?"

Maggie grinned at Bond. "Well, if he's calling you an idiot, he's definitely thinking clearly," she teased, earning a good-natured glare in return. "But are you sure you're all right, Felix?"

"Please. If James was back at the table bluffing Le Chiffre out of millions of dollars five minutes after he was poisoned, I'll be ready to climb Mt. Everest in half an hour." With help from Bond and Maggie, Leiter got to his feet and set about fixing himself up.

"How did she poison you? You said you drank it."

"Yeah, but _she _didn't poison me. One of her goons must've dropped it into my champagne when we were dancing."

"She has accomplices?"

"Or lackeys, sycophants, something like that, judging by the amount of butt-kissing they were doing. Pulling her chair out, getting her drinks; you'd think she was Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile."

"Try the asp that killed Cleopatra," Bond growled. "Surrounding herself with henchmen so she can feel like the ruler of her own little world, she sounds just like Silva. Then again, she learned from him."

Leiter's expression became grim. "Not just learned, James, inherited."

Ice slid in an agonizingly slow path down Bond's spine; next to him, he saw Maggie go rigid. "_Inherited_?" they ground out together.

Leiter nodded. "In that jewel heist in Italy, five people were killed: four Italians and one American, who just happened to be a federal agent on vacation. There was a violent struggle between him and the thief before she killed him, and our crime lab recovered traces of her blood from his body. DNA testing against CODIS yielded no profile on her, but we did get a near-perfect match to an ex-employee of MI6: a terrorist named Tiago Rodriguez, alias Raoul Silva."

Bond suddenly felt sick. _No. No, it can't be. Dear God, no..._

"We dug into Silva's background and found out that he was married to a British woman. Their marriage ended in divorce when Silva was given up, and she secured custody of their daughter, who was fourteen at the time. Six years later, she was killed in a car accident, and a month after that, the girl was reportedly killed in a gas explosion that destroyed her house. The body of a woman of similar height and weight was found in the ruins, but was too disfigured and burned to be identified, so she was buried under the daughter's name – which is why it was that much more of a surprise when that hit popped up. Best we can figure, she faked her death and left the country to join her father."

A tempest was was brewing in Bond's stomach. "What's her name? Her real name?"

"She was born Rubí Margarita Rodriguez, but for all intents and purposes while her father was still an MI6 operative, her given name was Ruby Margaret Silva. No question about it, Ruby Tuesday is Raoul Silva's daughter."

Bond swore under his breath. "Felix, why didn't you tell us last night?"

"I wanted to be absolutely sure that the woman you were after was her. Tanner was able to clear up some pictures of the thief and he sent them to me, and when I saw Ruby Tuesday earlier this evening, I knew she was the same woman in the photos. That's why I lured her away from you two, because I figured she was cooking up some kind of plan, the way she was glaring at you. And I heard what she was saying to you, Lady Maggie. She may be after James for killing her father, but I've got a feeling that she's holding some kind of grudge against you too."

Maggie frowned. "Probably because I'm the late M's sister, as well as a former double-0. The fact that I'm posing as James' wife is most likely the straw that breaks the camel's back." She blew out a sigh. "At least we know now that she wants revenge for the death of her father. But that still doesn't explain the plans for a massive emerald laser."

"Terrorists don't think on a small scale," Bond cut in. "When al-Qaeda operatives flew those planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on 9/11, they weren't targeting New York only or Washington, D.C. only. They wanted to cripple the entire US. Silva may have had a personal vendetta against M, but when he bombed the old MI6 building, it was an attack on the UK. If this woman wanted to kill me to avenge Silva, she would have done it already. If I've read the terrorist handbook correctly, she wants revenge against the country that betrayed her father and left him for dead, and what better way to do that than with a tremendous neon-green super laser?"

"And afterward, who's to stop her from targeting the United States or any other country? If we don't stop her, it really will be World War III," Maggie said.

"Right now, we've got to stop her and her molls," Bond said determinedly. "Felix, how many were with her?"

"Two guys, both of 'em packing heat under their tuxes."

"Any particular reason why they poisoned you and not one of us?"

"Why else? To stop me from blabbing her real identity to you."

"How the devil would she have known that, or that you were even here in the first place?"

"There you've got me."

Bond shook his head. "We'll worry about that later. Were you right here when you drank the poison?"

"Yes. I'd suggested we take a walk, and she brought our drinks with her. You've probably already guessed that I was planning on setting a trap for her, but she turned the tables on me when she handed that champagne flute to me. We toasted, we drank, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground with my heart racing while she stood over me with this evil smile on her face. She knelt down next to me and whispered in my ear, 'You thought you were going to tell James Bond the truth about me, but you're all looking through a glass darkly.'"

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means she's toying with us. She was saying that we don't know the whole truth yet, but we're going to find out even if it kills us."

"Sayings like that in our profession, James? Not funny."

Bond quirked a half-grin in Maggie's direction. "Point taken. All right, we've got three terrorists to find. I think our best plan would be to split up and search each level of this place by turns. I'll search the rooftop and you two cover this floor, the parking garage on Level 2, and the lobby and ground floor on Level 1."

"No, James, you need to search Level 1. The exhibit halls are on that level, and it's pretty safe to assume that the jewels are being kept in storage somewhere on the same floor. If there's a particular gem she's after, you can bet she's not going to be dancing on the roof like Mary Poppins," Maggie said decisively.

"Will you be all right?"

Maggie shot him an _oh-please _look. "I'm a menopausal woman with a gun. What do you think?"

Despite the tense mood, Bond barked a laugh. Leave it to Maggie to find humor even in darkness. "I think we've got a devil in a blue dress to find." He reached into his jacket and drew his Walther, cocking it fresh. "Let's go."


	15. Fights and Flights

My apologies for the delay - this was a pretty lengthy chapter to write. However, that doesn't mean I didn't have fun writing it, and I did, for Lady Maggie finally gets to show us what she's made of. Last time, everyone had split up to find Ruby and her cohorts. Now, the fights are on, and more dark revelations are coming to the light.

Thanks as always to my readers - y'all are blessings!

* * *

Shadows danced along the walls of the exhibit hall like an unearthly host of specters as Bond prowled the length of the room, Walther drawn. Anyone else would have felt a sense of unease; the nasty feeling of being watched, but those were bedtime fears to Bond. He'd been witness to and participant in scarier things than this, many of which still haunted his nightmares. And paranoia was an ingrained habit if one was a spy. It paid to look over one's shoulder, especially if said person was on every crime and terrorist network's Most Wanted list. The ghost stories were for children, but one never could lightly dismiss the things that went bump in the night.

_Bzzzt!_

Bond nearly jumped ten feet when he felt and heard a vibration against his leg. Upon realizing that it was his mobile, however, he yanked it out of his pocket to see what great jessie was ringing him this time. _Jessie, indeed, _he thought, answering the call. "Have you got a Christmas present for me, Q?"

"Two to make your day merry and bright, 007," Q quipped over the line. "We were able to ID two of the guests as known terrorists, and we also turned up our jewel thief's name. You'll never in a million years guess what it is."

"Ruby Margaret Silva, and she's Raoul Silva's little girl. Bet you thought I'd never guess _that _in a million years, either," Bond drawled.

"How did you know? Someone had to have told you; you're not smart enough to figure it out on your own."

"Says the man who can program a nationwide server crash in his sleep, but can't walk and chew gum at the same time," Bond retorted, unfazed by the insult. "Felix Leiter told me. Turns out the Americans have a price on her head as well, since she murdered one of their spies in Italy."

"Well, that's marvelous. How are we going to divide that particular spoil?"

"I'm prepared to make Felix a deal: the US gets her body and we get her head."

"And stick it on a pike and parade it around Trafalgar Square? Modern thinking indeed, Bond."

"Q, will you just tell me who the other two terrorists are before I shove my armor-plated foot through my mobile and up your bum? Our Miss Tuesday, or Miss Silva, as it were, poisoned Felix and now she's on the run with her two cohorts. I think I'm on the tail of one, but smart quips aren't going to stop him from stealing priceless jewels."

"Nor is making threats going to win you the title of Mr. Congeniality, but since I'm in a generous mood, I'll humor you," Q said dryly. "Their real names are Reynaldo Villalobos and Robert –" he pronounced it _ro-BARE _– "Guillard, but they're going by the aliases Jasper and Horace."

Despite the tense situation, Bond couldn't help snickering. "You have got to be kidding."

"I kid you not. They're using the names of the two idiots from _101 Dalmatians._"

"Well, considering that they're working for Cruella DeVil, I'm not really all that surprised. Do they bear a resemblance to Jasper and Horace, by any chance?"

"Amazingly enough, they do. Jasper, aka Villalobos, is a long, rawboned beanpole of a man, and Guillard, aka Horace, is short and fat."

"In other words, they look like Mr. and Mrs. Jack Sprat."

"That's the long and short of it."

Bond grinned. "Full marks for that one."

"No worries; I have no intention to usurp your position as pun master."

"Comforting. Since you have your little bells on anyway, why not jingle mine with a photo or two of the village idiots?"

"Already done, 007, although your picture came over with them. I guess a village in Glencoe is missing its own idiot."

"Ha-ha. Any more Q-Tips for me, Quartermaster?"

"If I did have any more, they'd never penetrate the wax in your ears."

"What? I can't hear you?"

Q scoffed over the line. "Oh, grow up, 007."

"Speak for yourself. Bond out." The instant the connection was terminated, Bond scrolled through his phone's contents and pulled up the two mug shots. Guillard, a plump Frenchman, and Villalobos, a lanky Spaniard, stared back at him from the LCD screen. Now that the _who _of the situation had been resolved, what truly mattered what the remaining four W's – _what _were they after, _why _were they after it, _where _were they hiding, and _when _were they going to strike?

The answer to that last question came all too soon and all too painfully, in the form of a fist slamming into Bond's jaw. Stars flashing before his eyes, he grunted in pain as his head snapped to the side with the force of the blow and iron filled his mouth. Before his gag reflex kicked in, he spat the mouthful of blood onto the floor, surprised that a couple of his teeth weren't going with it. Assuming the fighting stance, he spun around to face his assailant – Villalobos, who was grinning like a child who'd just burst a piñata open. "Typically, you take your hand _out _of the glove before you slap someone's face with it," he said, his tongue darting out to lick up the blood that continued to trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

"Merely a warning shot, Mr. Bond," Villalobos said, his Spanish accent a soft purr. "I'm not here to kill you, although the opportunity is sorely tempting."

"Then why are you here? To steal an armful of jewels?" Bond asked, eyeing the terrorist over his gun barrel.

"Too predictable. Señorita Silva would rather wait until the night of the auction and then create the show she desires."

"Well, she inherited her father's gift for showmanship, apparently."

"And for playing cat-and-mouse. Señorita Silva is only the queen in this little chess game. You have yet to check the king."

"Wait…" Dread swirled in Bond's stomach. "Are you telling me there's another?"

"Oh _s__í__, _but if you're smarter than you look, you'll remember your rules of chess. Your main goal is to get the king, but the more immediate threat is the queen. She has the power to move anywhere, capture whomever she wants… even take out the opposing queen."

Shock and cold realization walloped Bond in the gut just as his wedding ring began to vibrate against his finger. _Maggie! _he thought, right before Villalobos tackled him to the floor.

* * *

_It's quiet… too quiet._

The words from an old Western echoed in Maggie's mind as she crept through the rooftop garden, gun locked and loaded. Aside from the traffic and bustle of Honolulu, the rooftop was eerily silent – and cold, which was surprising for a Pacific island. Maggie shivered as a sudden gust of wind whipped through her hair, and she folded her arms over her breasts in a vain attempt to keep warm. Weather aside, something else about the atmosphere was giving her the creeps – that old, horrible feeling of eyes following one's every move. Luckily, that was where thirty-plus years of spywork came in handy. One was trained to notice every movement, noise, and _glimmer? _Maggie frowned at the sudden sparkle that appeared to be coming from the bottom of the nearby pond, reflected in the moonlight. _What is that? _Keeping her gun raised, she went to investigate.

Once she was by the pond's side, she could make out something at the bottom, the majority of it hidden under a tangle of lily pads. Whatever it was, it was huge, but she couldn't make it out. Reholstering her gun and rolling up her sleeves, Maggie plunged her arms in all the way up to her elbows and locked her hands around something solid, cold, and jagged, from the feel of it. Summoning her strength, she lifted the object out of the water and set it on the edge of the pond, gazing at it in awe.

It was a huge chunk of rock, but embedded in it were several of the biggest, richest columns of raw emerald that Maggie had ever seen. Gems of this size, rooted in a stone the size of a watermelon, would certainly make a heap of priceless jewelry… or a massive laser weapon. Clearly, Ruby Tuesday – _Silva, _Maggie corrected herself – had stolen this great jewel and hidden it up here, but why? And why not simply steal the rock and get out of town while they could? Something was rotten in Hawaii, and it wasn't volcanic sulfur, either. Someone was playing games.

"Treasure hunting, Madame Bond?"

Maggie stiffened at the oily French accent coming from behind her. She'd been caught in the act, but experience had taught her never to panic, not even if there was a gun pressed to her head. The hard sensation of a gun muzzle never came, but the next thing she knew, two chubby yet strong arms seized her from behind and a knife's icy blade was held to her throat. Resisting the urge to gag at the powdery smell of his cologne, she craned her neck ever so slightly, just enough to get a look at his face. Hair as greasy as his voice and eyes like mud bogs, peeking out of doughy cheeks and leering at her over a hooked nose. This had to be one of Ruby's cohorts, but for a terrorist, he didn't seem to be making a tremendous effort to hold her tightly. _Steady, Maggie. Time this right and you'll turn the tables on him._

"If you know what's good for you, you'll sink that rock like a good girl, unless you want those diamonds cut off your neck."

"Your thought is appreciated, but I value my neck a lot more than what's around it… or what's pressed to it," Maggie said, recalculating her plan in her head. "Frankly, I'm a little insulted. You go after a member of MI6 with a mere knife?"

He chuckled nastily. "A woman your age? MI6 or no, I don't need a gun to take care of you. This is going to be too easy."

Maggie bristled at the age crack, but it was the exact cue she needed. "Yeah… way too easy." With that, she stomped the three-inch heel of her shoe hard into his foot and wrenched it; he howled in pain and released her, shouting profanities in French. He bounced back quickly enough to leap at her and seize her from behind again, but Maggie yanked her arms out of his grip, clasped her hands together, and sent a guided elbow smashing into his face. She spun to face him when he released her again, and judging from the blood gushing through his fingers as he clamped them over his face, she had broken his nose. Before he could recover and reach for his knife to lunge at her again, however, she lurched forward, gripped his shoulders, and kneed him hard in the groin. He went down like a sack of potatoes and Maggie placed the sole of her foot on his throat – not enough to choke him, but enough to sorely test his gag reflex.

"_Mon Dieu…_" he moaned, hacking slightly when she applied more pressure to his throat.

"Pray to him for your soul, because right now, your body is mine," Maggie growled, glaring down at him. "Why is that emerald boulder up here and where did you steal it from?"

"Italy. And he's not the one who stole it; I am."

Maggie spun to see Ruby standing behind her, a Beretta clutched in her right hand. "Don't panic; I'm not going to kill you – not yet, anyway. Right now, Monsieur Guillard and I have a bone to pick."

"And I'm sure you will pick every last bone of his clean," Maggie returned, staring evenly at Raoul Silva's daughter.

Ruby smiled coldly. "Clever. If you'll be so kind…" she gestured with her gun, and Maggie, still eyeing her warily, took her foot off Guillard's throat. Ruby swept over to him and Maggie stepped back, tensing when she felt her wedding ring pulsate against her finger. _James…_

"Stop sniveling. Get up."

Guillard pulled himself upright at Ruby's sharp command, his face still drawn with pain. He looked ready to plead for mercy, but such disgust was etched into Ruby's face that a pardon from her seemed as unlikely as a white Christmas in Hawaii.

"Mademoiselle, I –"

"Shut up. You did the one thing I warned you not to do. Can you cast around in the recesses of your tiny mind and tell me what it was?"

Guillard's pained expression morphed into one of outrage. "I did everything you told me to do!"

"No! I told you, very clearly, _don't underestimate her!_" Ruby shouted, waving her gun wildly in Maggie's direction. "I told you that looks were deceiving, and look what happened. You took one look at her and deemed her easy prey, all because you didn't bother to read between the lines!"

There was that age jab again, but Maggie didn't even feel a prick of umbrage as Ruby continued to chew Guillard out. "I underestimated you too, you and your capacity for stupidity. Tell me, Robert, how does it feel to have your derriere thrashed by a woman twice your age?"

"_Sacrebleu!_" Guillard spat. "So kill me!"

Ruby's eyes went utterly cold at this point. "If you insist." Without another word, she raised her Beretta and fired a single shot dead into the center of Guillard's face.

Maggie felt her stomach roil, but not at the sight of Guillard falling to the ground nor the hollow, bloody, mangled mess that remained of his face. Gore she could handle; it was evil – pure, soulless evil – that made her sick. It was the same kind of evil that had slain her husband… horribly like this, she realized, her stomach lurching again.

Ruby knelt beside the deformed corpse and whispered, loud enough for Maggie to hear, "I'm sorry you couldn't face it." She rose and turned to Maggie with a smile that hid fangs. "You know, it's almost a pity I didn't do that earlier. It would've been harder for that pretty necklace of yours to identify him."

Maggie froze, but quickly recovered her countenance. No way was she going to let Ruby cotton on to her – and Bond's – cover. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right, just like you don't know that that multifaceted ice chip on your left hand shoots a white-hot laser beam when you turn it counterclockwise. Isn't that right, _Lady _Maggie?" Ruby's smirk widened at the shock on Maggie's face. "Lady Maggie Mawdsley, sister of the late M of MI6? Oh yes, I know your secrets, including the fact that you're posing as James Bond's wife. I figured it had to be an act; you don't strike me as the toy boy type."

Incensed, Maggie spat, "How do you know so bloody much about me?"

"The same way a certain hard drive fell into my father's hands a month ago: my own inside source. He started out as Papa's inside source, so I've inherited him, so to speak."

Rage boiled within Maggie's very veins. Someone on their side had committed treason against the United Kingdom, was plotting to destroy the country from within… and was possibly responsible for her sister's needless death. "Who?" she snarled, her own voice unrecognizable to her ears, so great was the anger permeating it.

"All good things to those who wait," Ruby taunted, her smug grin still in place. "You stil have some more moves to make. You've already taken out one of my pawns, and I almost had your bishop – Mr. Leiter, was it? – but you and your knight have more pawns opposing you than you think. Once I heard about your necklace's hidden charms, I rallied my newest recruits, the ones who haven't even gotten their faces on Interpol's milk cartons yet. But as I said, don't underestimate them. They may be green, but they are powerful."

"Spare me, _Miss Silva. _What about the emeralds?"

"Oh, those?" Ruby waved a hand at the massive rock. "Turns out it's only half of an even bigger rock, which is all for the taking tomorrow."

"But why bring it all the way over here and hide it in plain view for any idiot to find?"

"Not just any idiot; you found it, didn't you?" Ruby chuckled as Maggie seethed. "I needed something for you to find, like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs. You see, Lady Maggie, I'm not one of those secretive villains who slinks about in the shadows. I vastly prefer playing games with my enemies, let them figure out as much as possible before I finally kill them. I find that the more they know, the more painful the information that burdens their minds, and the more horrific the revelations that come along. And speaking of revelations, if you want to know more about that emerald, do your own research."

"You enjoy dangling carrots and leaving trails for people to find. And when they do figure it out, you make sure they can't divulge the solution of the mystery."

"Well, of course. That's my winning move. There are no stalemates and no losses in my rulebook. I never lose at this game. Ever."

"You monster," Maggie growled, her blood running hot beneath her skin. "Toying with human life is not a game, and innocent blood is not some great prize!"

"Oh, spare me the good-versus-evil soliloquy. I've heard it all before."

"Apparently, you need to hear it again!"

"Yawn," Ruby deadpanned, rolling her eyes as she strode past Maggie to the pond and shoved the emerald back into the water with one hand. "Emeralds make powerful weapons, no doubt, but they're worth dust compared to rubies." To emphasize her point, she waved her left hand, which bore her huge ruby ring. "According to myth, rubies symbolize prosperity, invincibility… and power!" Without warning, she twisted the ruby and fired a brilliant red laser beam straight at Maggie, aiming directly for her heart.

Maggie dived out of the way just in time, righting herself to aim her own ring at Ruby, but the wretched girl was gone before she could even turn the diamond. Choosing her steps carefully, Maggie made her way through the garden, walking alongside another pond, nothing reflected in it but the silvery disc of the moon… and the ghostlike shape of a woman emerging from a nearby grove of ferns. Spinning on her heels, Maggie whirled around and twisted the diamond on her ring. Ruby screamed in pain and fury as the white beam pierced her shoulder, and she ran to the edge of the roof and leaped off, seemingly to the pavement below. Maggie rushed after her and halted at the ledge just in time to see two men catch Ruby in their arms and bundle her into a waiting car; it sped off and was soon lost in the Honolulu traffic. Torn between rejoicing that she had won the battle and cursing herself for letting their suspect get away, Maggie was about to depart in search of Bond when she caught a glimpse of something lying on the ground nearby. _Ah, Cinderella lost her glass slipper, _she thought, picking up the spike-heeled silver shoe. But the vibration of her wedding ring left no time for the stiletto pump to be admired. _Hang on, James, I'm on my way! _Maggie thought urgently, gripping the shoe in her hand and taking off for the lower levels as fast as she could go.


End file.
